


Breaking the Wall

by secretagentstarchild



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Like... REALLY slow burn, M/M, Slow Burn, There's finally some smut now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:05:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 101,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8693950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretagentstarchild/pseuds/secretagentstarchild
Summary: Yuri was a storm in the form of a boy. Smoldering. Sparking. Frustration and fury often lashing against his bones. Only the ice seemed to quench his fire. Skating was his religion. The altar at which he had sacrificed himself, again and again. Shedding sweat, tears, and even blood on his quest for glory. It demanded nothing less than perfection. Nothing less than everything he was.It's been three years since his defeat at the Grand Prix, and the Russian boy had only grown more focused. More tenacious. The World Championship is approaching, and he's determined to prove himself to be the best, once and for all. But he doesn't expect for a certain Canadian skater to try to show him that there might be more to life than silver skates and gold medals.





	1. Almost Serenity

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, my Yurio! I worry so much about him! Filled with such anger, determination, resentment! Not having a very strong support system and now being trained by two strict people who demand nothing less than perfection... But the perfect set-up for some delicious drama! So here is my flash-forward to the future and a glimpse into Yurio's world. Expect some eventual Yurio/JJ because for some reason, my smutty little brain is having way too much fun with that pairing.

He often woke before dawn. It was strange in one who was drawn to the night, who thrived when the moon was high in the air, its silver song thrumming through his blood like the warmth of liquor against his tongue. How could one sleep when the night was calling? 

Viktor had laughed at him for that, years ago. Saying he truly was a cat in spirit. Awake for most of the night, grabbing small naps throughout the day. Graceful. Aloof. Proud. And it was true. 

It was his favorite time to skate.

Frost clung to the glass panes of the windows that towered above him. Crystal etched swirls of ice like ferns unfurling beneath the dusting of snow tumbling from the sky to join the tide of white that cloaked the ground. The outside world was a winterland, shadowed in darkness and a light snow that hid the face of the moon and the stars that kept her company.

Dawn was still hours away.

Yet Yuri Plisetsky sat upon a bench, slipping his skates upon his slender feet, pulling the laces tight. The rink was empty at this time of the day, the ice quiet with a serenity that would be punctured all too soon when dawn arrived, bringing a handful of bleary gazed skaters with dreams of gold in their eyes to fuel another day of training. 

For now, the ice was his alone. 

His tongue felt heavy, almost furry with the sour taste of old vodka from hours before, his ears still ringing with the scream of thrashing guitars and the howling vocals of the punk band owning the tiny stage of his favorite dive bar. Cigarette butts had bloomed from the ground like flowers, watered with spilled beer from the crowd of youths clad in leather and torn denim and bright gleaming metal.

He had managed an hour or two of sleep afterwards, but the call of the ice was too strong. Pulling him out of his twisted nest of blankets, the siren that stirred his heart. 

Yuri scowled as he felt a flash of pain as he tied his laces. His knuckles were swollen, skin broken and raw from the earlier brawl, when the music was over but adrenaline still flagged high.

Fucking fascist, he thought sourly. Skinhead scum.

It wasn't the first time he had been insulted for his looks – his slender body, the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the golden hair that fell like silk past his shoulders. In this hardcore music scene, he often drew unsavory attention. But the worst of the morons had learned long ago that Yuri wasn't one to suffer insults. He was a simmering firebrand, rage burning beneath the surface. His slender frame held deceptive ferocity – and while he didn't always win every brawl, he had never lost one either. Most of them had learned to give him a wide berth, but every once in a while, there was an idiot whose mouth ran faster than his fists. Like tonight.

Yakov would scold him for it, he knew. The wrinkles of his trainer's face settling into a dark glower that wouldn't quite disguise the worry in his eyes. Fighting was unbecoming for a champion. His career depended upon staying in peak physical shape. Surely he was too old to still act like a child. Especially with the World Championships fast approaching. There was no time for such foolery.

The boy could hear the old man's voice growling in his head, a sound of broken glass and rusted engines, power and strength gone to seed until only shadows of their former glory remained. But he pushed the noise away.

Yuri rose to his feet. Off came the skate guards, set carefully on the rink board that encircled the ice. The silver blades glinted from his feet like claws, holding such wicked danger, such promise, such freedom. He slipped casually onto the ice. 

And then he was off.

He did a slow lap first, and the sound of his blades against the ice was a song of beauty that never failed to make his heart race. It was the only thing that calmed the rage that always felt as if it simmered below the surface. 

This was what he had spent his entire life working towards. From childhood, this had been his sanctuary, his battleground. Burning away all hints of weakness, spilling sweat and tears and even blood upon the cold, stark beauty of the ice. Carving away all softness from his body, from his soul, tearing himself into shattered pieces every night and stepping from the ashes every morning. 

The ice demanded everything. It would never be satisfied with anything less than all that he was.

He was made of flames and frustration, and even his azure-emerald eyes felt kissed with sparks that flashed with danger. His body was a slender statue of marble, yet fire cradled against his bones. His marrow felt burnt into ash, smoldering embers flickering, ready to fan into an inferno at any moment. 

He saw his reflection against the frosted glass windows for a brief moment. Long blond hair tied back against his nape, though several silken strands had slipped from their binding to tumble across his forehead. He had lost the fragile softness of his youth, though he was still smaller than many his age, still slender. Except now his cheekbones were no longer rounded with baby fat – they were sharp and feline, and his emerald green eyes smoldered beneath a thick curtain of tawny lashes and delicately straight brows. His jawline had grown stronger, more defined. His body was deceptively lean, though beneath his shirt, muscles and sinews were carved into his flesh. Feline grace, every movement shrouded with elegance as if it were part of a dance that only he could play.

Beautiful, they called him. He had been beautiful when he was young, part of the reason he had earned the moniker of the Russian Faerie years ago. Even now, he still had the same androgynous features that made men and women alike flutter for his attention, drawn to his flame. 

He couldn't see it, though, which only made their attention even more annoying.

“Durak,” Yuri muttered only his breath, his lips curling up into a sneer. Fool.

What was he doing, letting his thoughts wander about nonsensical things? His face didn't matter. Only one thing mattered. Only the glory of perfection. 

His heart was beginning to pound - his cheeks flushed with warmth and stained with pink. His muscles were warmed up, loosening – and every moment felt familiar. He pushed his body faster, feeling the cool breeze kiss his skin. Caressing him like a lover, hypnotic and beautiful. 

He turned his body slightly, so he was skating backwards, knees bent gently and hands raised gracefully, while one foot pushed back into a cross-over around the edge of the rink. His speed was increasing, gliding powerfully against the ice. This was serenity. This was peace. 

Only the cold of the ice could soothe the fire beneath his skin. Only the whisper of the breeze and the sweat of his brow could offer redemption, solace in a world of chaos. 

This was his church. The altar at which he had sacrificed everything, time and time again. This was the only thing that mattered. His mother might have lost herself amidst icons and sacraments, her eyes glazed with devoted fervor to dim the numbness of her grief – yet this was the only religion he needed.

Time slowed here. Hours became minutes and minutes became hours, blurring at the edges like fingers trailing through water. And for a moment, he was nothing. He was everything. The world made sense for a little while. Every axel was a prayer. Every spin was a poem tumbling from his heart. Every perfect landing was a symphony of song offered to the universe in gratitude.

A ghost of a smile flickered on the edges of his lips. And Yuri pushed himself harder, gathering his strength and leaping into a triple lutz. 

He stumbled in his landing, balance shifting too far, too fast, his body wobbling and his palms slapped against the cold ice that almost claimed him completely . He managed to recover his balance again, but his lips twisted into a scowl.

“You can do better than this,” he hissed to himself. 

The World Championship was only a few weeks away, and his heart hungered for recognition. He needed to taste gold. He needed to prove himself, finally, as the best. How many times had he tried for this? The most important event in the world. He had won championships before – he had been winning for so long that victory had almost begun to lose its savor. Yet this was different. This was the ultimate victory.

 _You will be the best_ , he snarled to himself. 

He could almost here the disdain dripping from Lilia's voice in the back of his mind, every proud syllable etched with coldness. Even after three years, she found little enough praise for her star pupil. The trailing leg of his grand jetè was too sloppy. His arabesques were too crude. He still lacked the perfection she desired. Yet he couldn't deny how much he had grown beneath her tutelage – between Lilia and Yokav, he could skate circles around the boy he had once been, claiming gold in the Junior World Champions. But he wasn't good enough. Not yet.

He would have to be even better if he wanted to win the World Champions. To finally achieve what he deserved. What he had spent more than a decade devoted towards reaching.

All of his rivals would be there. Yuuri, who still blushed every time they draped a gold medal around his neck, with Viktor's arm proudly curled around his waist. That arrogant JJ with his smug, smirky face, dark eyes dancing with mischief that made Yuri's hands clench into fists of annoyance. Chris with his wandering hands and radiant sensuality. Even Phichit with his smooth moves and beaming smile and innocence blooming in his eyes. The same old crew. 

Yet each of them was their own threat, having been chosen to represent their nations in the Men's division of the World Championship. Just as he had earned the honor of representing Russia. 

Through the window, he could see the darkness of the skies beginning to fade beneath a fog of light. The black night blurring into smoky greys, dim and dusky. He was pouring sweat by the time the sky began to stain itself with crimsons and golds, shrouded and burning like the flames in his heart. Dawn had arrived. 

And on cue, he heard doors open behind him. With almost two months left of the international competition season looming before them, his fellow skaters would be arriving early and staying late, striving to perfect last minute choreography changes and burn away any hints of weakness that had marred previous performances. 

“Yuri,” he heard the familiar voice of Mila screeching against his ears.

His brows furrowed, a scowl twisting his lips as he slowed his skating. He ignored her, though he knew her well enough to realize that his silence wouldn't stop her from talking. It was too early (or late) to deal with her teasing, her wide smile and laughing eyes. 

“You're up early,” she observed, laughing as she leaned against the rink board. “And on your birthday, no less! Happy birthday, Yuri!”

He growled to himself, letting his body slow to a halt. “It's just another day,” he snapped, shrugging his shoulders in irritation. 

Mila wasn't deterred. “Just another day?” she echoed, shaking her head. “Don't be silly. It's your 18th birthday! Everyone knows how special that is! And I got you something to celebrate!”

Yuri sighed heavily, skating over to where his rink-mate leaned. She held a small white box, and she lifted the glossy cardboard lid to reveal a tiny cake. “Happy 18th Birthday, Yurio!” was scrawled across the white frosting using blue icing. Even years later, he couldn't escape the obnoxious nickname. And Mila delighted in torturing him with it.

He glared at her. 

She grinned smugly. There wasn't a hint of apology in her eyes.

What was so extraordinary about today? For most teenagers, it was special. The age when all traces of childhood were shrugged away and one took on the responsibilities of adulthood. But he felt years older than his age, an old soul trapped in a young body. Had he ever been a child? He had been supporting his family since he was twelve and dominated the Junior World Champions for the first time. His mother was too lost in her sadness and his grandfather was in too much pain to work all of the time. He had shouldered the burden on his frail shoulders. At fifteen, he had left home – first staying with Lilia, then later in a studio apartment in Yakov's name, only a few blocks away from the training center. He had traveled the world a dozen times over. He had won more medals than most skaters could ever dream of. 

When he spoke with kids his age, it felt like speaking to an alien creature – a being from an entirely different world that he couldn't seem to grasp, no matter how hard he tried. They didn't know what sacrifice was. They didn't know what hard work truly was. What true responsibility felt like. The focus it took to devote one's self to a single dream – to train for eight hours a day – to bruise and sweat and tear muscles and keeping pushing, to hunger for something so badly that they would give up everything – friends, family, a normal life. 

Sometimes, his soul felt weary, aged a thousand years for every year that he had lived. 

“Are you alright?” Mila asked, tilting her head slightly to the side, a frown marring the edges of her full lips. Concern flickered in her gaze – a rare expression in the girl who treated him like a little brother – enjoying the thrill of pushing every one of his buttons.

Yuri shook his head, scowling. “I'm fine,” he grumbled, running a hand over his hair, pushing away the errant strands that had escaped his hair-tie. Was it the lack of sleep that was making him feel so off-balance and introspective? Or was it just this day itself? A day that should be filled with significance and celebration, yet only served to remind him of how far he had yet to go.

18 years old, and he still had yet to achieve true victory.

But that would change. Determination threaded through his bones. His chin tightened, lifted, fists clenching slightly at his side. This would be the year he tasted the ultimate triumph, proving himself to be the greatest champion in the world. He would prove his skills. Prove that he deserved the win. Prove that he was, at last, the best. 

He would show them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... Fair warning. I know absolutely nothing about Russian, figure-skating, or practically anything requiring research in this piece. If you find something terribly wrong, that's why. ^_^ 
> 
> Note 2: Also... I've only watched the first 8 episodes and I've tried to stay as much with canon as I possibly could! However, I have no idea what is going to happen in future episodes, so things might end up diverging wildly from canon because I'm making it up as I go along!


	2. To Being the Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange sort of family reunion! Bringing in our favorite Canadian King to start pushing all of Yuri's buttons - JJ style!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: JJ is from Canada and his name is so terribly French... So in my mind, he's from Montreal. Which also has the added bonus of having a legal drinking age of 18. So expect some French elements to show up in our suave Canadian. Because I can. ^_^
> 
> Also... I think it's pretty obvious that I'm not fluent in any other language! So I apologize for any glaring errors in any other language I might sprinkle throughout this piece!

“Please?” Yuuri's brown eyes were large and luminous, mahogany pools that shimmered with undisguised hope. 

The Russian boy crossed his arms over his chest, his face carefully blank and cold. He shook his head.

“No.”

Viktor's lips curved into a smile. He stood behind Yuuri, his arms curled around his lover's waist, leaning down to rest his chin upon the Japanese man's shoulder. “Come on, Yurochka,” he coaxed, his blue eyes warm. “You might even have fun!”

Yuuri nodded in agreement, his dark hair contrasting beautifully against Viktor's silver. “We haven't seen you since the Prix,” he said, a pleading note in his voice. “It's only dinner. Only a few people will be there – those of us who came early. Please come!”

Yuri sighed, pushing his sunglasses further up upon his face. His lips twisted into a scowl, and he kicked one converse-clad foot at the ground. Arguing against those two was practically impossible. And part of him, secretly, deep down inside... A tiny little part of him was always grateful that they continued to try to reach out to him. Though he would rather die than admit it.

“Fine,” he grimaced, a heavy sigh dragging from his chest. 

The Russian found himself regretting his agreement an hour later. Trapped at a table at the back of a restaurant that looked more like a sports bar – he felt more out of place than ever. Clad in black jeans that clung tightly to his long, graceful legs, a spiked belt looping over his thin hips. His converse shoes were bright and purple, bearing black cheetah spots. They almost mirrored the black leather jacket that draped over his chest, with the golden leopard print that hugged the shoulders, ringed with silver metal spikes that gleamed dangerously. His silver-gold hair was tied back, silken strands hidden beneath the black hoodie hood that he pulled down low over his face. 

He felt so strange here in a sports-bar, filled with men and women wearing jerseys and jeans and baseball caps, cheering at some game that beamed down from the televisions that ringed the room.

But he wasn't the only strange one here. Only a few people, Yuuri had promised. But more than a few people had arrived early, giving themselves a day explore the city or to recover from the jet-lag of flying around the world before the official practices began. And they were all excited to see one another, a symphony of chaos and laughter and cheers. The table overflowed with giant mugs of golden beer frosted with white foam. Hot plates tumbled with burgers and fries and chicken wings and chips – a feast of grease and alcohol. 

The world's elite figure skaters had gathered here tonight for a low-key dinner. Viktor and Yuri. Christophe representing Switzerland. Guang Hong from China. Emil Nikola representing the Czech Republic. Leo from America. Phichit for Thailand. Michele skating for Italy, with his sister Sara who would be representing the women's division. Beneath the table, her fingers were woven tightly with Mila's. Even Georgi was there – Russia had earned two entries in the Championship last year for single male skaters. 

And of course, to make matters worse, he was stuck beside JJ. Of all people. The young man looked at home in this sport's bar – which made sense, as the World Championship was being held in his home city, of all places. Montreal. And he looked comfortable indeed, leaning easily back in his chair. Dark hair fell across his forehead, strands brushing across those thick brows. His dark blue eyes were cobalt oceans that missed nothing – brimming with laughter that echoed the smile that stretched his lips. He looked confident. Happy. As always.

It was annoying. And even more annoying that the handsome skater was attracting all sorts of attention. Every five minutes, it felt like the waitress was at their side. She had taken one look at Yuuri's surly expression, and promptly ignored him. But JJ... She couldn't stop asking if he needed more ketchup, more alcohol, a soda, anything at all.

She was approaching again. And her perfume made Yuri's nose tickle. He wrinkled it upwards in disgust, shaking his head. 

JJ's dark blue eyes ran appreciatively over the waitress, and his smile deepened. She brushed a copper curl away from her cheek, and her demeanor changed. There was a sway in her hips as she approached the table, an easy giggle upon her lips, and her fingers lingered against the back of JJ's hand when she passed over the beer he had ordered. He murmured something to her in French which made her laugh again, showing pretty white teeth like pearls against her red lips.

Yuri scowled down at his plate, stabbing a french fry into a pile of ketchup and then took a large swig of beer. 

Around him was a sea of laughing faces, chattering voices. Viktor sat to his right, his fingers tightly intertwined with Yuuri's. The Japanese boy's laughter was rich with confidence, and he still looked at the silver haired man with adoration. He had tried so hard to hate Yuuri for taking Viktor away. Even years later, his heart still ached when he remembered the sense of loss when Vitya had left. It was like losing his family. The older brother that he had never had.

Yet he couldn't even hate the stupid idiot. Either of them. They made it impossible. 

Across the table, Christophe was trying to flirt with Guang Hong, and the poor boy looked so uncomfortable. Three years around one of his idols, managing to prove himself as a worthy representative of China, and the brown-haired boy still managed to seem so young. Innocent even, with his cheeks flushed into a blush, desperately trying to change the conversation away from the beauty of his eyes.

Why had he come here? Lost in this crowd of familiar faces – yet still, he always felt alone. But wasn't that to be expected? These weren't friends. Not really. These were his rivals. His competition. He would always be lonely here. But if he had to be lonely... The least he could do was be the best. That was even better than friendship could ever be.

There was a flash in his face, and Yuri grimaced at the bright light that left stars blurring against his eyes, dazzling his vision. Phichit and his fucking phone. Always taking pictures.

“I want one with you and JJ,” Phichit sang out with a smile. The waitress was gone, though the cloying scent of her perfume still lingered, along with her number scrawled upon a napkin.

Before Yuri could protest, JJ had slung an easy arm over his shoulder, casting that rougish grin while his other hand curled into one of his signature “J”s. The Russian boy twisted his lips into a Vicious sneer, and raised his middle finger up to the camera.

It was hard to refuse Phichit, especially when he beamed with delight. The kid was older than him by several years, but he was like a child – all wonder and pure happiness. Normally, it should have been enough to make any sane person cringe. But even Yuuri couldn't bring himself to be too cruel to the Thai boy. It would be like kicking a puppy.

“Don't fucking touch me, Leroy” he muttered to JJ, shrugging off his arm the moment Phichit had turned away.

He gulped down more beer, hunching his shoulders protectively as he glared at his plate.

JJ wasn't offended by Yuri's abrasiveness. Instead, he arched one dark eyebrow as he watched the youth toss back another swallow of alcohol. “The Championship starts in two days,” he said mildly, though his voice held the same unruffled warmth. Like he was secretly laughing at the entire world. “Maybe you shouldn't drink so much.”

Yuri froze for a moment. 

Was that bastard really trying to tell him what to do? The arrogance of it took his breath away, and he felt a flush of anger warm his cheeks. His head turned to the side, narrowed into a glare that he stabbed in JJ's direction. He said nothing. Just reached into his pocket, pulled out a metal flask that glinted silver beneath the overhead lights, and brought it up to his lips in a deep swig.

Vodka burned a trail of warmth down his throat. Familiar and soothing. He looked JJ straight in the eyes. 

It was childish, probably. But he couldn't help it. 

“Yurio,” he felt a nudge at his shoulder, and Viktor's disapproving voice against his ear. 

Yuri tore his eyes away from JJ's smirk and met Viktor's sea-foam eyes. He was in full big-brother mode, apparently. No coach would be happy to see their student drinking anything more than a beer before such a big competition – and if Yakov wasn't around to keep an eye upon him, then Viktor seemed determined to fill his shoes.

It didn't matter that he had been a rival skater since he was fifteen years old. It didn't matter that he had officially reached the age of majority. It didn't matter that he had been living on his own for the past three years. They still seemed to think that he needed looked after. As if he didn't know how to take care of himself. 

It would have been annoying – if he didn't know exactly how to get around it.

“Viktor,” Yuri said smoothly, raising the flask into the air. “Za vstrechu.” Then took another sip. A toast in thanks for their meeting, years ago. So traditionally Russian, it might have been comic. Indeed, he was laughing inside. 

The silver-haired man sighed good-naturedly, then accepted the flask. It would have been rude to refuse or to not toast in response. He tilted it towards Yuri, “Za vstrechu,” he murmured, taking a deep swig.

Viktor coughed, the alcohol bringing a blush of warmth to his cheeks, and he laughed with appreciation. “It tastes like home,” he said wistfully, savoring the taste. He passed the flask back.

Not that those words fooled the younger boy for a moment. Japan was Viktor's home now. Yuuri was Viktor's home. He didn't miss anything from his home country – not truly. He had given it all up, would give it all up again a thousand times over again, just to wake up next to Yuuri every morning. Just to cradle his heart within his hands.

The thought left an uncomfortable feeling hollowing his chest. 

But he was spared the discomfort by Guang Hong, who had seen the interaction from across the table. “What does that mean?” the young man leaned forward, almost grateful to turn away from Christophe's flirting beside him. 

Which of course prompted Viktor to climb to his feet, scooping up his mug of beer, and repeat the traditional toast to all of those who were gathered. They cheered, everyone taking a swig of their beers or sodas. 

Yuri smirked as Georgi climbed to his feet next. In Russia, you couldn't stop at just ONE drinking toast. It would be absurd. 

“To everyone here!” Georgi roared out, laughing. “And all of those who couldn't be here today!” His smiles came more easily now that he had begun to see a pretty little skater from China, with her big brown eyes and raven dark hair.

One simple toast had started a waterfall. Suddenly, everyone wanted to give a traditional toast from their countries. 

“Per cent’anni!” came from Michele. “One hundred years of luck!” They drank.

“Prost!” was Christophe's energetic contribution. Cheers!

Yuri was finished with his vodka. He started his beer again. At least it helped untangle the knot that was in his stomach. The tension that threaded through his muscles and made it impossible to relax. He took deep pulls of the amber liquid with every toast. Letting the warmth settle in his stomach, threads of heat curling through his veins, sparking like little diamonds. 

Phichit had his arm stretched out from his face, smiling into the camera of his phone. “Chook Dee!” he cried out, another wish for luck. With the competition so close, luck was something that one couldn't have too much of. 

Not that Yuri needed any. He had something better on his side. Talent. 

They were getting louder. More exuberant. Most were too smart to drink heavily, but there was enough alcohol flowing to loosen tongues and make laughter flow easier. They were laughing and sharing stories and posing for selfies and gossiping about fellow skaters and shouting in good-natured arguments and discussing previous competitions. Almost like a very strange family reunion.

His beer was gone. Yuri frowned. The waitress was back, leaning against the table as she laughed, one hand reaching out to brush light fingers over JJ's shoulder. 

“I get off in a few hours,” she was purring, and JJ was giving her that pompous, conceited grin, clearly enjoying the extra attention. They were both distracted. 

He reached out, snagging JJ's mostly full mug for himself, and replaced the other skater's glass with his own empty one. He took a deep drink, and felt his lips twist into a grimace. JJ's tastes ran more bitter than he expected – but stealing the Canadian's alcohol made it taste sweeter somehow.

“Oi,” he said to the waitress. She paused, surprised, her brow knitting into a gentle furrow at the rudeness of Yuri's voice. “Your boy's out of beer. Be a good girl and go get him some more. Get me another one too.”

She glared at him. Yuri stared back, blank faced. Her perfume was making his nose itch again. Made it hard to breathe. Even her giggle seemed to grate at his ears, each sound morphing into clawed nails against shrieking steel.

“Jealous, chaton?” JJ murmured, as the waitress flounced away. His fingers reached out to run over the cool glass of the empty mug in front of him. “If you wanted some, all you had to do was ask.” There was a smirk on the corners of his lips that gave his words multiple meanings. 

“Fuck off,” Yuri muttered, taking another drink.

The young man only laughed. 

The waitress returned promptly – albeit setting Yuri's new beer down so heavily, it sloshed all over the table. He ignored it, and ignored her. Ignored everything until he felt a shifting at his side – JJ was rising to his feet, his fresh mug of beer cradled carefully in his hands. His voice was warm as he lifted the cup into the air.

“To victory,” he said, eyes flickering across the table. “May we all drink deep from the rivers of triumph. Together.” His voice grew stronger. “To friends and to success.” The table roared back its approval, and glasses clinked together and Yuri rolled his eyes.

He couldn't _wait_ to shove that victory right back down the other man's arrogant throat. There was only one triumph that mattered. There was only one gold medal. And it would be his.

He watched as JJ took his seat once more, to the sound of cheering laughter. The dark-haired boy tilted his head, meeting the Russian prince's gaze, those twinned mirrors of cold green glass. And then in a murmur so gentle that it only reached Yuri's ears, JJ lifted his cup slightly once more and added softly, “To being the best.”

Yuri drank to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all of the kudos and comments! Talk about overwhelming love! You guys are the BEST! <3


	3. Through the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri drank a little too much at the reunion dinner. JJ promises the others to see him back to the hotel safely, but his help is the last thing that the Russian boy wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah. I seriously can't stop writing this story. I just adore both of these guys way too much - even when they are being smug or bratty! And I am absolutely overwhelmed at your kudos and beautiful comments - they are seriously life and inspiration and every single one motivates me to write more! I definitely wouldn't have been able to write three chapters in less than a week without all of the encouragement, so thank you so freaking much!

The cracks on the sidewalk looked like spiderwebs spiraling out into the unknown, dark strands like fingers reaching for another hand to hold, yet always cursed to remain empty. Yuri sat upon the sidewalk curb, converse shoes resting on the blacktop of the street, while fingers traced over cracks.

Behind him, he could hear the last of the skaters leaving the restaurant. Mila called his name but he ignored her – and he could hear her sigh. But she had enough to worry about – poor Guang Hong could barely walk on his feet, and she kept shooing Christophe away from the drunk boy. She and Sara would make sure he got home alright.

Most of the others had left slowly throughout the long evening, trickling away like dandelion seeds floating in the breeze. 

He felt a heavy weight slam into his back, arms gripping over his shoulders and hugging tightly enough to steal his breath away. Yuri caught a glimpse of familiar silver hair out of the corner of his eye, and his tense body relaxed, muscles uncurling as Viktor laughed in his ear.

“Why are you pouting over here, Yurio?” Viktor asked, practically draped over the smaller boy's shoulder. He frowned, those aristocratic features attempting to settle into an expression of stern disapproval. He didn't quite manage it. “You're drunk, aren't you? You shouldn't be drinking so much, Yuroshka,” he scolded. “Practices start in two days.” 

It would have been more convincing if his words hadn't been punctuated by a hiccup in the middle. 

Yuri ducked his head down towards the ground, feeling a tiny smile curl at the edges of his lips, in spite of himself. Drunk Viktor was always an amusing sight. 

“Stop nagging me, Vitya,” he groaned aloud, pushing the other man away gently. His words came out blurred around the edges, the thick burr of his accent even stronger. “You sound like a hen. Cluck cluck cluck. I'm – I am _fine_.” 

He heard another voice sigh, though it was rich with amusement and the slight hints of a chuckle. “I'll make sure he gets back to his hotel,” JJ told Yuuri. “Go get your fiance tucked in.”

“Oh, thank you, JJ,” Yuuri's face relaxed into an expression of utter relief, even if his cheeks were brushed with pink. He literally had his hands full with Viktor, who was swaying on his feet again and laughing, nuzzling into Yuuri's neck and whispering naughty things in Russian.

The world was spinning a little, splintering into beautiful colors and blurs of light – as if someone had reached up to the sky and smeared the stars with the tips of their fingers. The lights shifted, like the kaleidoscope his grandfather had bought him when he was young – spiraling rainbows and stained glass patterns forming new worlds.

It took a moment for Yuri to realize what JJ had said. And by the time the meaning of the words had sunk into his mind, and his head snapped upwards – Yuuri and Viktor were tucked safely in the back of a taxi, driving away. Everyone else had left.

“I can get back by - by myself,” Yuri insisted, annoyance thickening his words. He glared at JJ, who stood nearby with arms folded neatly over his chest. “I don't need your help, Leroy.” To prove it, he unfolded his legs and rose to his feet.

JJ darted forward when the young man swayed gently, a slender willow on unsteady legs. “Let me just call you a taxi,” the dark-haired youth said mildly, his hand still stretched outwards in case Yuri's swaying peaked too far in either direction. “What hotel are you staying at?” 

Yuri shrugged off the helping hand. “Suck a bag of dicks,” he said rudely. “I don't need – don't need anyone to babysit me.” 

He wasn't tired. He knew that he should be, but the alcohol warming his blood seemed to echo the song of the stars above his head. He was like this in every new city that he visited, especially once the moon began to peek its sleepy head above the horizon. Night fell and energy rose, and he needed to prowl, needed to explore, needed to catch a glimpse of the hidden secrets that every new city seemed to hold. If he tried to return to his hotel room, he would just lay in a tangled nest of blankets, staring wide awake at the ceiling while his brain obsessively replayed his skating programs until even his mind was exhausted. Exploring was much better, since he couldn't skate the energy away.

“I can't let you go exploring Montreal on your own,” JJ told him, running his hand through the longer strands of his midnight hair. “Not when you're wasted, and definitely not in the middle of the night. Viktor would kill me.”

Yuri shrugged his shoulders, shoving his fists deep into his hoodie pockets. “Not my problem,” he said. Though he couldn't help the smirk on the corner of his lip, just imagining Viktor's anger directed towards JJ. It took a lot to spark the fury of the silver-haired man, but when it bloomed, it was a sight to behold.

He shook his head, taking a tentative step forward. The world swam a little around him, tugging gently at the edges of his vision. But his body didn't sway too much if he moved slowly. He took the next step with a little more confidence, and then he fell into his rhythm – he was walking past JJ, moving a bit more cautiously than usual, but he wasn't careening around wildly like most drunk boys. 

Yuri heard a heavy sigh behind him, and knew that JJ was following him.

Trees sprouted out from sidewalks, dark fingers that stretched towards the skies. It was too early for leaves, those unfurled palms – but the empty branches had begun to thicken with dark nubs that would bloom into buds. Spring was beginning its slow waltz into the city – but winter wasn't quite ready to give up its grasp. The air blew cold and chill, putting a flush on Yuri's cheeks. But he didn't feel the kiss of ice in the breeze, though it tangled its fingers up through his tawny hair. 

Street lights burned through the darkness, warm shrouded suns like paper lanterns dangling above their heads. Everywhere his eyes glanced, the skyline rose in the distance – a mountainscape of steel and glass that made him feel so very small.

There was so much to look at. Darkness had fallen and yet the city was still wide awake. Everywhere he looked, there was a riot of color, a tempest of fluorescence that shimmered around him. Neon lights blared in bright azures and warm oranges and captivating crimsons, light painting into letters that reflected off of the towering glass windows of storefronts. Most of the stores themselves were closed, yet still they seemed to glow brightly. A steady train of cars snaked past them, scarlet brake lights flashing and blurring through the darkness. Cloth signs dangled from buildings proclaiming French words that he couldn't read, yet each white letter seemed to float lazily like a handful of balloons above his head.

Everywhere he looked, life bloomed. Everywhere he looked, it was a riot of color blurring and blending and wrapping around him. A wonderland of beauty in neon lights and steel and glass. And the people! Even more enchanting than the beauty of the city lights were the people that still pushed over the sidewalks – a swarm of humans. Some of them were laughing, arms slung over each others' shoulders. One poor girl was yelling, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to walk away from a stricken looking boy. An older man with soft, cotton white hair and spectacles upon his face carried his wife's purse, her arm threaded through his while her cane swept across the sidewalk for balance. A group of women with silky manes threw back their heads and laughed, dressed in heels like daggers and dresses that turned their curves into weapons to enchant and ensnare, their eyes already gleaming with music from the clubs that awaited them. 

Yuri could watch them for hours. He felt time shift and crawl around him, moments racing and jumping and trickling away as he stared at the city around him. It was so strange. Every city in the world was so different. They each had their own secrets, their own stories, their own flavor. And yet there was always a single thread of sameness throughout every one. It didn't matter what languages were spoken, whether they were bundled in down coats or the silk of saris, whether their hair was ruffled with cold winter breeze of St. Petersburg or kissed with the sunshine off of the Italian coast – humans burned with the same bright fire, surrounded with friends and family and laughter and love.

Billions of humans in the world, and yet Yuri Plisetsky never fit in with any of them.

 _You don't need them,_ he whispered fiercely to himself. _All you need is the gold._

He was paying more attention to the people around him, so it wasn't surprising that his converse caught on an uplifted ridge of sidewalk, and he stumbled, pitching forward ungracefully. 

But a steady arm grabbed him before he could topple into a streetpost, or the young mother who stood beside it, holding the gloved hand of a sleepy-looking child bundled up like a starfish. JJ's arm snaked around his waist, pulling him upright and saving him from disaster.

“Sorry about that,” he heard JJ's charming apology to the mother who was giving them a disapproving frown. Dark hair tumbled over his eyes and his grin smoldered with that usual, rougish fire. “It's his first time in Montreal and had a little too much fun at the bar.” 

The young mother relaxed beneath the warmth of JJ's smile. “Get the poor boy home,” she scolded, though the smile on her lips was warm with forgiving exasperation.

“I'm on it,” JJ replied back with a cheerful wink, leading them away. The bastard could charm his way out of anything, Yuri knew, and he didn't know whether the knowledge filled him with disgust or envy. 

JJ's arm was warm against his waist as he lead the smaller youth through the crowd. The golden-haired boy could feel the heat radiating through his shirt where his leather jacket had shifted. Embers lingering beneath topaz skin, glowing and toasty compared to the cold breeze that tugged against their bodies. Holding him steady while the world blurred around him.

As if he was some sort of weak child in need of a parent, too young and fragile to take care of himself. Just the thought made Yuri grit his teeth with frustration. From anyone else, such help would have been unwelcome. From JJ – it was absolutely unbearable. 

“Don't need your help,” he growled for what felt like the dozenth time, stepping away from the older man and shrugging away his touch. He swayed on his feet once more, but he stayed upright. A small victory, but one nonetheless.

JJ's sigh was a tangle of amusement and exasperation. “Can I call you a taxi yet?” he asked. “Haven't you explored enough for now?”

There was a long moment of silence. “It's never enough,” Yuri replied back, a voice so soft that the words were almost lost in the sound of honking cars and chattering crowds.

He tilted his head back, fingers sweeping a strand of golden hair away from his eyes. His gaze swept across the night sky. But there were no stars above him, glittering shimmers like a daydream looking down. The light of such cities shrouded the sky during the best of nights, but he could see the charcoal smudges of heavy clouds overhead. Rain was coming.

As if he had summoned it, a drop of water fell upon his upturned face, a kiss of ice against his cheekbones. And then another. Thick drops of rain began to pepper the sidewalk around them, starbursts of cold against their clothes. Around him, people moved quicker, stretching their limbs to escape the rain, scattering like ants. Within a few minutes, it had become heavier, almost a downpour. Yet strangely, it felt good. The alcohol in his veins was a steady glow and the cold water felt more like a caress. 

Yet JJ's hand settled upon his shoulder gently, and Yuri blinked as he found himself pulled into a little alcove, a cocooned shelter made from the doorway of a closed store. 

“The last thing I need is for Yakov or Victor to scold me for letting you catch cold,” the taller man told him. “If you lose a medal because you've got the sniffles, I'll never live it down.” 

“I'm not going to get a cold, Leroy,” Yuri rolled his eyes as he scowled. He shook his head in disgust at the thought. “I was – I was enjoying the rain.” Yet still, it felt nice to lean against the steady mountain of cement at his back – the world was starting to shift a little at the edges, though not quite spinning yet. It was nice to just... Sit still. 

JJ looked at him, half illuminated by the glow of a nearby streetlight – half shrouded in heavy shadows. “I think you will naturally do the exact opposite of anything that I suggest,” he observed. “It's ingrained in you. If I tell you the sky is blue, you'll say it's green. If I tell you not to drink, you'll get shit-faced out of spite. If I say you should get out of the freezing rain, you'll want to dance around in it.”

“That's not true,” Yuri objected immediately. But his jaw tightened and his teeth clenched together when he realized that he had confirmed JJ's observations with those simple words. It really was a habit.

The young man tilted his head to the side slightly, studying Yuri's face. “Say something nice about me then,” he challenged, arching one dark brow.

Yuri stared at him in utter silence. His wits were flowing too slowly, sluggish and weighed down as if they were swimming in syrup. Say something nice? It was impossible... Yet he couldn't ignore the challenge in JJ's voice – daring him forward,

He frowned, studying the other boy carefully, emerald gaze flecked with silver jade. He needed to be objective to pull off such a monumental task. JJ was tall, well-built, a testament to the grueling training that a champion required to be at peak performance. The jacket that clung to his torso did little to disguise the broad shoulders and athletic body – even his clothing was immaculate and of his own creation – every inch chosen to show off his form to the best of its strengths. His jaw was strong, his nose straight over full lips that always held a smile. His skin was a dusky bronze, spilled honey that so many girls ached to taste. The back of his head was trimmed down close to his scalp – shorn velvet that looked so soft against the fingertips. But the rest of it fell over his ears and across his forehead in a spill of shadows – midnight black on a moonless night. Drops of water clung to the strands, small diamonds glinting in the light from the spill of the street lamps. Long lashes swept down towards his cheekbones, thick and elegant. His eyes were twilight – bruised sapphires glinting almost violet in the darkness. Always glittering with repressed mirth, always laughing at the world around him.

Of course, he was technically beautiful. Everyone in the world knew that. Especially JJ himself. 

This might have been the hardest thing that he had ever done. Tougher than the Rostelecom Cup three years ago, where he had pushed his body harder than ever before. This might be more difficult than living with Lilia so he could train at every hour of every day for month after awful month.

“You have pretty eyes,” he said finally. Yuri's voice was flat and low, barely a murmur. As if he was afraid that the world might hear him and he would never live it down.

“What?” JJ blinked in shock. He truly hadn't expected anything nice, Yuri could see. As if those four words were the last thing he had ever thought to hear. 

Yuri cleared his throat, looking out towards the street. Car lights swept by like beacons from a lighthouse, sweeping stormy seas for lost survivors. “Your eyes. Sometimes, they are a deep blue, all dark and intense. Sometimes, they're like a steely gray and that's pretty too.”

There was a long moment of silence, stretching out between them, heavy and vibrating with surprise and unspoken words. The silence edged against Yuri's spine, too long to be comfortable. He cleared his throat again.

“They go perfectly with your big fat head.” Shit. Being nice to JJ was too hard. 

“My head is perfect, thank you very much,” JJ retorted, flashing that electric grin. But there was a depth of smugness to his words that made Yuri want to wrinkle his lips up into a sneer. Instead of being insulted, the stupid man looked surprisingly pleased with himself at the other boy's compliment.

It made Yuri angry. It was impossible to push JJ's buttons. He always had that stupid conceited smirk on his face, his eyes always laughing. He was never serious, never angry. In the years since they had been competing together, Yuri had never once managed to ruffle the other boy's feathers. Life was a big joke, an easy adventure for the dark-haired skater. 

“Ya tebya nenavizhu,” he grumbled. But of course, JJ wouldn't understand that. So he struggled for a moment to find the proper words in English. “I hate you,” he announced, and he felt proud that he had remembered it so perfectly. 

“I know you do, mon beau,” JJ replied, laughing.

“How do you say, 'I hate you' in French?” he asked curiously, peering up at the Canadian man through a curtain of golden hair. 

JJ's voice was serious, a low murmur like velvet against his ears – but his eyes danced merrily, glittering with suppressed laughter. “Je te déteste,” he replied smoothly. 

Yuri tried to repeat the words, but they stuttered against his tongue, too fluid and alien. “I hate you,” he repeated in English instead.

“But you think my eyes are pretty,” JJ teased him, his voice a low purr of smugness.

Fingers clenched into fists, and Yuri's eyes narrowed into a glare of frustration. He should have known that the Canadian would cling to those rare kind words like the toy spilled from a box of cereal. JJ would never let him forget that Yuri had complimented him. He scowled.

Ignoring JJ was easier, he decided. 

The rain was easing into mere sprinkles outside, puddles glinting across the sidewalk like mirrors, reflecting the city lights. A spring shower gone as quickly as it had arrived, fading away like a girl with a glass slipper at the stroke of midnight. 

Yuri's shoulders hunched slightly as he stuffed his fists into his pockets once more, slipping past JJ and stepping out from the shelter of the darkened alcove. He could feel the sigh that slipped from the other boy's chest, clearly wishing the exploration to be finished, but Yuri offered no words, no acknowledgment. 

The city was still calling his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An amazing artist named Aegisdea did an absolutely MAGICAL depiction of this chapter! Please please please go check out Drei's page and swoon over all of the beautiful art and leave some love! Such talent! I am still screaming over the beautiful rendition of this chapter. Just... Wow! Thank you so much! I am honored!
> 
>  
> 
> http://aegisdea.tumblr.com/post/154518007041/i-think-you-will-naturally-do-the-exact-opposite


	4. In The Enemy's Lair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri wakes up after his drunken adventure!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else is screaming about absolutely EVERYTHING in episode 10? Must find a way to bring Otabek into this story somehow! So many feels!
> 
> Here's a new chapter to celebrate! Thank you again for all of your kudo hearts and for so many beautiful comments! Every single one I read just inspires me so much and I am so grateful that so many amazing and kind people are enjoying this story! <3 <3 <3

Sunlight brushed its tender fingers against his face, and he groaned, pulling the blanket up over his head. But the movement was enough to make his head pound, a low surge of pain to accompany the dry cotton of his tongue. His lashes fluttered open, and for a moment, the world swam in a sea of confusion. 

He was on a couch. Tucked beneath blankets with a pillow beneath his face. In a strange living room he had never seen before.

Last night was a blur in his mind – patches of darkness mingled with scenes of memories that felt faded at the edges. The sourness in his mouth made it obvious what had happened – too much alcohol. He laid back for a moment, brow furrowed, concentrating. Peering through the faded memories, focusing, pulling more of them up to the center of his mind, strengthening them. More memories solidified.

Fuck. 

He was at JJ's. 

Yuri kicked off the blankets that had been tucked around him, rising to his feet. His head pounded at the movement, and he whispered a curse, swaying unsteadily upon tired legs. He was blessed enough with youth – he knew that the hangover would be gone by the time night fell again, leaving only weary muscles woven over weary bones and an overwhelming need for sleep. But for now, he would have to move gently to avoid making the headache worse. 

Quietly, he slipped his feet into his purple converse shoes, shrugging into his leather jacket as softly as he could.

His eyes flickered around the apartment. Curious, in spite of himself. 

In the heart of the enemy's lair, Yuri mused to himself. It looked different than what he would have imagined.

He would have expected JJ's wall to be covered in a larger than life-size portrait of JJ himself, thick swirls of oil paints spread over stretched canvas, displaying those stupid tattoos and his fingers curved into those ridiculous Js. Maybe with all of his medals surrounding the portrait, the discs of warm buttery gold and cool silver, warm aged bronze and crystalline glass – a treasure trove that even Midas would envy. The medals illuminated with spotlights so no one could miss his victories, his _greatness_. 

But... The apartment looked normal. Larger than his own studio back in Russia, with its chaos of clothes and cans and messy blankets. JJ's home looked clean. Organized. The living space looked like one large room – the kitchen on the far side melting into the living room, separated by a dark marbled island counter, with several stools tucked beneath it. The couch he had slept upon was dark leather, supple and soft, a black cloud cool against his skin. Sunlight shimmered over the black matte of the large flat-screen tv stretched across the wall, beneath which rested a few game systems. The games themselves were stacked and cords neatly rolled. A wooden shelf-tower held a collection of DVDs, a hundred doorways to a hundred different worlds. In the corner, he saw a huge duffle bag that bulged – resting beside it, there were a handful of hockey sticks and a helmet, a pair of chunky black hockey skates with their thick boots and the silver blades that looked so foreign without the teethed edge upon their toes. 

How Canadian, Yuri thought with a roll of his eyes.

Upon one ivory painted wall, there was an ornate crucifix, curved edges gilded in gold and the half-naked man offered like a sacrifice. It looked so strange compared to the three-barred Russian cross he was used to. But the rosary draped across the branches of the crucifix with its glinting black beads was familiar enough, reminding him all too well of the prayer rope wrapped around his mother's left wrist, its black tassels tangling against her fingers. 

His nose twitched at the memory – he could still smell the incense pouring from the silver censors, smoke twirling up towards the sky in ribbons and curls. The warmth of candles flickering, a thousand unspoken prayers torn from the heart and stained with desperation. The glint of the icons painted against wood, halos shimmering like beaten gold while the eyes of the saints looked upon them with such mournful eyes. A heavy sadness brushed tentative fingers against his spine.

 _Stop it,_ Yuri told himself, edging away from the Catholic crucifix and turned his attention towards the rest of the apartment, grateful for the distraction.. 

Picture frames dotted almost every shelf that he could see. Dozens of sleek black frames cradling memories that were somehow important enough to be displayed for the whole world to see. The memories JJ cherished most. He peered at them. There was JJ at the last Grand Prix, the gold medal gleaming off of his chest, standing beside Yuuri and Victor, all of them beaming proudly. There was JJ laughing next to some rock band, with everyone throwing up their fingers into his signature Js. A gathering of his rink mates, all of them wearing the same warm-up track jacket, all of them cheering. The other boy seemed to fit in everywhere he went – others were drawn to the spark they could see burning inside of his chest, aching for a brief touch of his fire.

His eyes flickered towards another picture, larger than the others. There was JJ standing with a man and a woman on either side of him. The older man had his thick brows beneath his baseball cap, while the woman wore thick glasses that didn't quite shroud her deep blue eyes. Both of them beamed with pride. But they weren't alone. Two young kids sat beside JJ – looking like younger versions of their older brother. Arms all wrapped around each other, bright smiles and pearled teeth and eyes radiant with happiness. 

Yuri recognized them, of course. A family of champions. Skating was in JJ's blood, threaded through his veins to mingle with the legacy of victory. His parents had their own medals, won years ago in the Olympics, proving their talent before the world. His sister had finally joined the Senior skating division – their brother would join within another year or two – but both had carved names and reputations for themselves amongst the Juniors.

He scowled at the image. Their happy faces. The love and the pride that beamed from them all like a faint halo. Family. It made him aware of a hollow feeling within his stomach, a wrenching little squeeze of bitter pain, a flutter of sadness cradling against his bones.

If he could find a pen, he decided, he'd draw mustaches on all of their smiling faces. 

He had lifted his eyes to scan the table and shelves nearby, searching for said pen or marker or anything with suitable ink, really – when he felt something leap out from the shadows of the couch and attack his foot.

Yuri froze, peering downwards.

There was a little orange puddle of fur tangled in his shoe-laces, and his heart stood still for a moment.

“Oh, you beauty,” he breathed, immediately crouching down.

It was a kitten. It couldn't have been more than two months old, dark orange stripes crossing its fluffy body, even forming a little M above its brow that it wore like a diadem. Its ears were too big for its head, giving it a vaguely bat-like appearance, yet somehow that only made it more endearing. Amber green eyes glittered, focused upon the shoelace. Tiny needle claws emerged from the velvet of its paws, attacking its prey with an adorable ferocity.

Instantly, Yuri kicked off his shoe, pulling out the shoelace from the holes of his converse. A worthy sacrifice for a worthy cause.

He laughed, a genuine laugh of delight as the kitten stalked its prey, its little butt wiggling from side to side before it pounced. “Get it,” he encouraged gently. “Such a fierce hunter! Such a pretty kitty! Oh, you sweetheart!”

It didn't take long to exhaust the kitten. Yuri dragged the shoe-lace up and over the couch, around pillows, across the floor, circling the living room. Laughing softly at every pounce, at every captivating tumble as the little hunter tried out the instincts it had inherited from its larger, deadly ancestors. But tiny kittens weren't fountains of limitless energy, it seemed. He found himself back on the couch, somehow lying back again against the pillow and blanket. The kitten was curled upon his chest, its little face nuzzling up into the curve of his neck while whiskers tickled across his skin. Its paws were kneading, sharp claws prickling with every movement. But the pain was worth it, for the kitten was rumbling its little body with a purr of happiness and contentment.

Yuri was in bliss. 

“Why are you living here?” he crooned, nuzzling its face. “You don't want to live with this jerk. Come with me instead. You'll love Russia.”

A slight cough made him jump. And Yuri looked up from his new best friend to see JJ leaning in the doorway, staring at them with bemusement. He was dressed in nothing more than boxers and a red t-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders. His hair was mused – rumpled and sticking out awkwardly on one side, haphazard strands falling across his brow. His jaw was grazed in shadow in need of a shave. This wasn't the polished skater who always had a model on his arm. He looked... A bit disheveled. Unkept. Strangely normal.

“If you try to steal my cat, Yuri Plisetsky, I will follow you to Russia and make your life a living hell.” But there was an easy smile curving upon JJ's lips as he pushed himself away from the doorway, making his way towards the kitchen. The smile uncurled into a yawn as his hand lifted to comb through his tousled hair.

Yuri froze. The smile vanished from his lips immediately, and his brows knit together in annoyance. “Don't listen to him. He doesn't deserve you,” he whispered loudly to the kitten, so JJ could hear.

He could hear JJ rustling around in the kitchen – but from his horizontal position on the couch, he couldn't see much more than the back of the other boy's head as he pulled open cupboards, letting them all slam closed again before opening the fridge to peer within its arctic depths.

“Your name is Tigryonok,” Yuri told the kitten on his chest matter-of-factly, his voice lacking its usual brash spitfire, gentled into something soft and sweet. The kitten was a little tiger indeed.

He thought his voice had been kept quiet, but he heard JJ immediately retort from the kitchen, “No, it's not,” the other boy called out. “Stop trying to confuse him. His name's Rajah.”

It took a moment for the meaning of the name to sink into Yuri's mind, and when it did, he rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling, shaking his head. Rajah. Of course. What else would the self-proclaimed King call his pet? Yet, the fair-haired lad couldn't deny that there was something royal and princely about the sleeping kitten. But _his_ name was much better.

“Tigryonok,” he whispered rebelliously into the sleeping kitten's ear, feeling a little glow of happiness as the ear gave a flicker at the touch of his warm breath.

In the kitchen beyond, cabinets kept slamming and he winced. The serenity of the morning had been thoroughly shattered beyond repair, it seemed. His headache pulsed again, a faint throb as a reminder that beneath the adorable distraction, the hangover was still very much present. 

“You're going to wake him up,” Yuri hissed, hoping his voice was loud enough to be heard over the racket. His arms curled closer to the kitten, as if he could protect its slumber from the annoyance of noise hammering through the air. “What the fuck are you doing in there?”

He saw JJ freeze in the middle of opening another cabinet door, letting the wood swing closed again gently. The older boy turned around, and there was a sheepish smile on his lips, that Forget-Me-Not gaze looking suitably chagrined. 

“I think I ran out of coffee,” he explained, and there was that same hint of embarrassment painted across his body, stiffening his shoulders. But then JJ's eyes brightened. “There's a coffee shop on the corner. Stay there. I'll be right back.”

Yuri frowned. That seemed like an excessive gesture when JJ had rolled out of bed only five minutes before, when his eyes were still heavy with the weight of his dreams. “Don't be an idiot,” he growled, discomfort putting a slight serrated edge to his voice. “I don't want your coffee. And it's time for me to be off anyways.”

“Keep it down,” JJ drawled back, his words fringed with laughter, overriding the other boy's words as if he hadn't spoken at all. His eyes flickered back towards the sleeping Rajah. “You're going to wake him up.” 

Then the other boy was brushing past the couch, disappearing down a hallway into one of the back rooms. Within a moment, he was back, clad in dark blue jeans perfectly tailored to his long legs. His dusky-red shirt clung to his shoulders, rusted fabric sliding down those carved biceps and ended at the thick curve of his wrists. The color of passion, the aching hunger of desire, the sparks of fury – everything primal and raw – and it only seemed to make his honeyed skin glow more radiant. He shrugged on his jacket and was gone before Yuri could even think of a protest.

Yuri blinked. 

It felt strange to be in the apartment now, alone amongst JJ's treasured belongings. It was odd how one minute, the walls could feel almost too small to contain the other boy's spirit, his teasing, his confident laughter. But the moment he was gone, the apartment felt too big – painted walls echoing with emptiness. It was an uncomfortable feeling buzzing in the back of his mind, an annoying mosquito that he couldn't quite slap away.

For a brief, tantalizing moment, he considered waltzing over to the fridge. Perhaps shaking up the sodas or unscrewing the condiment lids, like a little blond goblin to spread chaos and mischief. A reminder for JJ later that Yuri Had Been Here. 

It was an entertaining notion – one that brought a smile to his lips But his plan would mean shifting and waking the precious Rajah curled up on his chest. So Yuri stayed put. But discomfort was unfurling inside of his chest, blooming tendrils that whispered through his muscles and leaving a restless energy shadowing in its wake. Silvered lightning rivering through his veins. Discomfort swelling into a faint anxiety and more than a little bit of annoyance as the minutes seemed to stretch on and on and on. Eternity shrunk down into a small hour-glass, where the seconds became years and minutes were centuries.

What was he doing here? Listening to JJ in the first place meant he was being an idiot. But actually waiting for him to walk through the door? Pathetic. His upper lip curled into a silent sneer at the thought. Was JJ dragging his feet on purpose? Laughing to himself at the thought that Yuri was waiting like a patient pup?

Ugh. Probably.

He couldn't stay here for a minute longer. 

It took only a moment to re-thread the shoelace through his purple converse shoe, slip it on his foot. To shrug into his leather jacket once more and murmur a soft apology to the sleeping kitten. Then Yuri pulled his hood up over his plaited golden hair, and pulled open the door. 

And he froze.

A startled JJ stood on the other side, juggling a box of donuts, two coffees, and a set of keys. Wide sapphire eyes locked with emerald. One second passed, then two seconds. Time stretched and slowed down to thoroughly illuminate the awkwardness of the situation.

JJ frowned, staring at Yuri and the guilty gleam in his eye, and then his gaze swept backwards into the apartment. He pulled himself inside, closed the door, and tossed the donuts onto the counter. The coffee, he set down a little more gently. Then he folded his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the front door, effectively blocking any attempts to leave.

“Yuri.” He said. Just one simple word, drawn out long and low. A warning.

Yuri scowled at him in silence.

“Yuri, empty your pockets.”

The boy glared at him. “Empty my pockets?” he repeated slowly. “Why? You think I'm some sort of thief?” he asked. His words turned into a snarl. “You don't trust me alone in your apartment? Fuck you, Leroy. Like anyone would want to steal any of your crummy shit.”

JJ sighed, actually reaching one hand upwards to the bridge of his nose and pinching it, a gesture that was remarkably like the one that Viktor had picked up from Yakov. “So help me God, Yuri... If you've got Rajah stuffed in one of your pockets....”

At the sound of JJ's voice, there was a tiny little mew, and Yuri's hoodie pocket shifted, fabric rippling and pulsing. Yuri froze. 

Silence reigned for a long moment.

Then JJ reached out one hand, long tapered fingers stretched forward, palm upwards. Even the simple gesture managed to become something elegant, something smooth and perfect like a song.

The Russian boy grumbled, and reached into his hoodie pocket to withdraw the tiny Rajah, who blinked around sleepily. He passed over the kitten, the pretense of offended anger dissolving into the empty air – though a faint pout lingered at his lips. When his hands were empty of the precious bundle of fur, Yuri reached out to snag one of the coffees on the counter. It was a poor substitute, but he took a deep sip anyways. 

“He would be happier living in Russia,” he commented, without a single hint of apology in his voice as he watched JJ snuggle Rajah to his chest for a moment, kissing his furry little head before placing the kitten on the ground once more. The orange kitten bounded off instantly, awake and ready for mischief.

JJ glanced over at him, cobalt gems sparking through thick lashes. There was no scolding, no yelling. Just a mild exasperation and not a single flicker of surprise. He looked almost serious again, apparently deciding a change of subject would be prudent. 

“How are you feeling?” the Canadian asked, and there was a strange note of kindness woven through his voice. “You were pretty out of it last night. You gonna be okay for practice tomorrow?” 

“I'm not old like you, grandpa,” Yuri told him with smirk, taking another sip of the coffee. The warmth was heavenly, almost euphoric, spreading sparks of heat through his veins. It took the edge off the headache that was drumming against the inside of his skull. At least the silvered sparks of anxiety had abated. “I'll be fine in a few hours.”

JJ's eyebrows shot upwards at that, and he looked incredulous. “Old?” he repeated. “Yuri, I'm like FOUR years older than you.”

“Exactly,” Yuri nodded sweetly. “I can already see the wrinkles starting to form on your face. I bet you have a few months until your hair starts going grey. You should probably just give up and retire now, old man. Leave the real skating to my generation.” 

Watching JJ's lips open and close soundlessly for a moment was one of the most amusing sights Yuri had ever seen. The dark-haired man always had a smooth response or a quip readied at the tip of his silvered tongue. Sometimes, it was hard to get the other to just shut up for two seconds – yet never had Yuri seen him rendered wordless with surprise and indignation. Considering how strange JJ was behaving this morning... How eeriely _nice_ he was being – a new tactic guaranteed to annoy him … It was reassuring to be back on solid ground again.

He took another sip of coffee, trying not to laugh. Had he finally found a way ruffle JJ's feathers? Had he finally found a button to push? “Speaking of old.... I think you blew it with the waitress last night.”

JJ's dark brows furrowed, a little crinkle blooming between them. His stormy-sea eyes were shrouded in a blank confusion, clearly not comprehending what Yuri was referring too. 

Amusement melted once more into annoyance, and Yuri resisted the urge to roll his eyes in disgust. JJ was such a playboy that he literally couldn't remember making a date only twelve hours before?

“Last night?” he prompted, arching one fair eyebrow. “Waitress. Annoying red-head. Gave you her number, you were supposed to meet her after her shift or something?”

The other boy's expression cleared, the confusion melting first into understanding and then amusement. He gave a laugh, a throaty chuckle while fingers flicking in dismissal.

“She'll give me another chance,” JJ told him confidently.

“And if she doesn't?” He gritted his teeth. Confidence was JJ's middle name, worn upon his brow like a royal crown, shining without apology. The very concept of failure didn't seem to exist in the other's world. He focused upon a goal with unbreakable tenacity – medals, lovers, victory. And remarkable enough... Yuri had seen it work more times than he could count. Annoying wasn't a strong enough word for it.

JJ shrugged, unperturbed at the very possibility. “The world is filled with marvels and beauties, chaton. There will always be others to make friends with.” He slung an easy grin at Yuri and winked – and this time, the smaller youth couldn't help but roll his eyes.

“I didn't think it was possible,” Yuri observed with a smirk. “But I swear I just saw your head swell up even bigger. If you're not careful, your Burger King crown isn't going to fit.”

JJ threw back his head and laughed, a deep, throaty sound that tumbled from his chest, those dark eyes dancing in appreciation of the comment. For a brief moment, Yuri found himself smiling too, a faint glimmer of a grin tilting his lips.

In his pocket, his phone gave a waspish buzz, an angry, demanding sound. But he didn't need to check the device to know who was calling. He could almost feel Yakov's frustration through the phone – no doubt, he'd find a long list of frantic calls and texts, demanding to know where his prized student was. Official practices before the judges and witnesses wouldn't begin until tomorrow, but there were still plenty of hours in the day to train and perfect any last moment weaknesses in the program.

The larger man heard the sound, and a smirk crooked his full lips. “Somebody's in trouble,” he teased in a sing-song voice.

Yuri glanced out of the kitchen window where the golden light painted the world, and the cool spring morning had begun to stretch its way towards midday. No wonder Yakov was trying to call him. He was more than an hour late for their unofficial practice session.

“Aren't I always?” Yuri lifted a shoulder into a half-hearted shrug. Being late to practice was unusual in itself, but being scolded by a fuming Yavok was certainly nothing new.

“Go AWOL today,” JJ suggested as he leaned his weight back upon his elbows, reclining so gracefully against the marbled counter. His dark eyes were sparking with mischief beneath the strands of obsidian hair that tumbled over his forehead. The challenge within those three simple words was crystal clear, a double dare in eleven letters.

So that was it, was it? JJ wanted him to miss practice. Why? Perhaps it was a strange attempt at sabotage. Trying to keep him from operating at peak condition, so he would start the Championship on the wrong foot - tense and stiff and off-balance. Or perhaps it was just a childish prank for JJ's own personal amusement. Laughing at the temporary ridge driven between a furious coach and his rebellious student. Was that why he took so long to get coffee, under the guise of being nice?

None of it made sense. 

Yuri reached out, flipping open the box of donuts that had been tossed upon the counter and snagging two of the delectable treats. Glazed with spun sugar and a confection of rainbow sprinkles, he slipped them over one finger like giant dessert rings. He took a nibble as he headed towards the door.

“Nice try, Leroy,” he replied with a smirk. His lips glistened with a smudge of glaze, sticky sweet, and he licked it off with the tip of his tongue. 

JJ's eyes flickered down to his pale pink lips, and he shook his head gently, arms crossing over his chest. “Such a tease,” he complained. But the grin on his lips was at odds with the faux-wounded eyes he cast at Yuri. 

Now THAT was the JJ he knew and loathed. Ready to shamelessly flirt with any person with a heart-beat, always prepared with a raking grin or a suggestive quip or a wink. At least that was familiar territory. Most of it was innocent enough – simple teasing without any true seriousness behind it. That was just JJ's nature. But he knew it annoyed Yuri – which probably made it even more amusing for the dark-haired boy. 

But Yuri refused to be ruffled this time. “Too good for you,” he agreed with a smug smile, his left hand eaching out to cradle the cool metal of the doorknob. Then he lifted his donuts into a little salute of good-bye, and he was gone.


	5. Pride's Tattered Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Official practices are only a day away, but Yuri is pushing himself just a little too hard.

“Again.” Lilia's voice was barbed, unimpressed.

Her hair was spilled ink over pale parchment – black silk that glistened with a glossy iridescence, tied back in a tight bun. Her dark eyebrows were sharp brush strokes across her forehead, those stark angles tapering into fine points. Sharp bones hollowed out her cheeks, high and feline, and above them, her amber-green eyes seemed to burn. Her thin lips were pressed into a grim frown. More than a decade and a half past her days as Russia's Prima Ballerina – yet she still wore her beauty as easily as a fur coat, luxurious and grand. She was the Queen Dowager of this court of skaters – and she demanded nothing less than perfection. 

She was a silver dagger pressed against his throat, a crown of thorns draped over his brow. He hated and loved her, sometimes both at the same time. Three years ago, she had taken him as her student. Had seen his potential, had reached inside of his chest and pulled out the ugly strands of weakness, letting it burn into ash on the flames of his determination. He had grown into such a beautiful monster beneath her eyes.

He had come so far beneath her tutelage – and yet, he knew he had so far yet to go. There were times when he could see Lilia's eyes soften beneath a wave of pride, and he knew that his movements were perfect, his technique beautiful. Those were moments he cherished – those compliments as rare as black opals, dark stones flickering with rainbowed flame, shadows lit by a heart of fire. 

Usually, though, Lilia looked at him the way that she did now. Brows narrowed over her bright eyes, frowning down her pointed nose. Unimpressed. Aloof. Ready to point out every single flaw that marred his performance. Mistakes were hideous. Imperfections were not tolerated. He was better than that. Once upon a time, he would have laughed at the idea that his skating was anything less than perfection itself. He knew better now.

Yuri shook his head to displace the tangle of thoughts that kept whispering against his mind. He took a deep breath, letting his concentration flow downwards. Savoring the sound of the skates carving across the ice. Letting the cool air bring him back to himself. Meditating on the soothing sensation, gliding across the rink. 

He did an easy spiral, relaxing into the movements, gaining speed. And then his muscles gathered, tightened – his body leapt into the air in a tight, fluid motion and the world spun too fast to breathe. A triple lultz. He had a brief moment of pleasure as he landed, shifting into a half loop that allowed him to transition immediately into another leap – triple salchow. 

He landed that one too, and again came that smug little burst of pride inside of his chest. Few things felt as perfect as that brief moment of flight – tasting the sky against his tongue for a single instant before the earth called him back to its embrace once more. The universe held its breath and for a small sliver of eternity, he almost had wings.

Lilia's eyes narrowed, and her voice cracked like a whip . “Sloppy, Yuri,” she said. “The Russian Fairy should not land on the ice like a bag of cement, hard and clumsy. Your free leg should not flow so carelessly. And what is that stance?” She arched one severe brow. “I'd expect such an allongé from a first year. Not from a Prima. Not from you.”

Yuri stiffened, eyes narrowing into a glare for a brief moment. But the tension drained away as he mentally replayed the jump sequence in his mind. She was right. She was always right. 

The older woman watched him for a long moment. “We've all worked so hard for this, Yuri. We've all sacrificed to get you here. We're so close,” she said, and the sharp whip of her voice had quieted into a soft iciness. “Perhaps you should be taking this more seriously.”

She was a knife-thrower with silvered blades cradled within her smooth palms – and Yuri was the assistant strapped down to the spinning wheel. Her words sang through the air, and every word struck home. But the final sentence was the climax, the crescendo, the sharpest knife that buried its way into his chest.

He flinched, even as his fingers curled into fists of frustration. Yet how could he protest? The flutter of pride shriveled upon within his chest, replaced with the cold weight of reality. Cement blocks tied to his feet, sinking beneath waves of disappointment. He knew that she spoke the truth. He had arrived three hours late to practice today, breath still heavy with stale alcohol, grimacing from the lingering hangover plaguing him with a fierce headache. His behavior certainly wasn't the behavior of a champion, let alone the greatest Champion in the world. Was he going to let all that he had worked for slip between his fingers, the waters of his destiny evaporating before he could drink his fill?

Nearby, Yuri could hear Georgi murmur something to Mila, but he didn't pay attention to those tittering morons. But his cheeks felt flushed, creamy skin stained with heat that they had heard Lilia's disappointment. Shame flickered in his chest, tendrils of regret twisting their way down his spine. 

He felt something else upon his skin. A prickling against his nape, a gentle warning like a breath of hot air. The uncomfortable certainty that someone else was watching.

He looked over his black-clad shoulder, gaze trailing across the ice. There was a familiar form leaning over the rink board. It was JJ, of course. Fingers woven together and elbows supporting his weight, watching from beneath strands of silky, midnight hair. From this distance, Yuri could feel the curiosity radiating from the Canadian's athletic form, black training clothes hugging every inch. Clearly, he intended to practice here too.

Yuri's lip curled into a sneer, and he turned his face away before the heat against his cheeks could flame brighter. There was that kiss of shame again – embarrassed that his rival could witness his sloppy skating and the scolding of his coach. But just as quickly, the humiliation bloomed into something stronger, something more familiar. The glittering embers of determination.

 _I am still better than you, Leroy,_ his mind whispered viciously, and he lifted his chin proudly. A haughty princeling with visions of gold in his eyes.

He threw himself into practice with a renewed vigor. Lilia was right. They had come so far. He could not let weakness hold them back, could not let imperfections sink their way into his body and shatter what they had worked so hard to accomplish. This was the final push. 

Perfection was within reach if Yuri could just stretch out his hands a little further. Push himself just a little harder.

The rest of the world did not exist. He was vaguely aware that Lilia had left, no doubt disappearing to discuss with Yakov about their disappointing star. His rink-mates had turned their focus towards their own routines, moving with the diligent precision. They wove across the rink like chess pieces – always managing to avoid the others, a tangle of curves and jumps as they poured their hearts onto the ice as well.

They didn't matter.

Yuri pushed himself fiercely, with unapologetic brutality. His hunger fueled him. He repeated his jump sequence, the same combination of moves that needed to be flawless, smooth and brilliant. Triple lultz. Half loop. Triple salchow. Over and over again. Feeling for the imperfections in every movement, searching for the fault-lines that would send his program crumbling. 

Each one was flawed. That was the most galling thing of all. He over-rotated this one. He landed that one, but the movements of his hands weren't graceful – they fluttered like a flock of startled birds instead of curling into a song. His leg was too stiff. Too high. The outside edge wasn't deep enough. 

With every failure, frustration was building. How many jumps had he tried? His silver-gold hair was plaited back in a rope down his nape, yet errant strands had escaped, plastered to his forehead with sweat. His skin was flushed with exertion. Had it been a half-dozen? Had it been a million? His slender body held deceptive stamina, yet even it was beginning to falter beneath the savage practice. His muscles were beginning to tremble with exhaustion, aching with a steady burn, and air no longer trailed smoothly into his lungs – it burnt ragged against his throat. 

_You must be stronger than this,_ he snarled to himself, angry at the weakness of his body in revolt. He didn't have time for softness.

He was so close.

Yuri did the sequence again. And again.

And then his body rebelled completely. Trembling legs pushed off of the ice and into that damned triple salchow. One moment he was flying. And the next... He was falling. Yuri landed hard – ankle shifting too far beneath his weight, his balance unable to compensate for the deviation. And then he was skidding, rolling across the ice in a tangle of long limbs and silver skates and tawny hair. The breath was stolen from his lungs at the weight of impact, as if a giant had scooped him from the earth and squeezed out the oxygen with one grip of its brick-like fingers. 

He lay upon the ice for a long moment, the cold sinking into his skin as he struggled to remind his lungs how to to function. 

“Yuri!” he heard his name being called, a shout from far away. A deeper sound echoed by the faint voices of Georgi and Mila. But the noise just made him close his eyes tightly. 

It was perhaps the most ungraceful landing of his entire memory. Even counting those dark novice years. But the mortification wouldn't be complete without witnesses, of course. 

Yuri finally managed to gasp in a ragged mouthful of air as the world steadied itself. Gingerly, he pushed himself upwards into a sitting position, and his body protested with immediate waves of pain. He stared down at his outstretched hands, fingers trembling gently. His palms were scraped raw from the ice, skin torn and shredded and pebbled with tiny rubies of blood beginning to pearl up to the surface. It had been a long time since he'd fallen with enough force to draw blood. 

“Are you alright?” A shadow fell over his body, and Yuri glanced upwards. Of course, it was JJ, standing tall like a Goliath above him. But the young man's legs folded gracefully, sinking into a kneel at his side.

There was a growl lingering on the tip of Yuri's tongue, a hiss of frustration to tell the Canadian to back off – he didn't need help. But before they could spill from his lips, they crumbled into ash. JJ was crouched just inches away, his dark brows raised in an expression of concern.

Was he laughing behind those eyes? Did he delight to see his rival's weakness spilled upon the ice? 

Yuri had never seen JJ's eyes this close. Pools of crushed violets forming navy waters, marbled with cerulean sparks and faint threads of steely granite. Framed with a dark sweep of lashes that any woman would envy, only serving to make them brighter. Except now they were locked upon his, and there was no mirth in their depths, no arrogant fire or smugness. They were wide with concern, radiating a gentle worry that Yuri had never seen before. Mesmerizing.

He felt shaken, a vague sense of unease whispering through his mind. 

“Are you alright?” JJ's voice repeated itself in a low murmur brushing velvet fingers against his ears. “Did you hit your head? Are you hurt?”

Yuri shook his head – not in answer to the question, but in an attempt to bring him back to himself, to righten the strange tilting sensation that was flowing through his world. “I'm fine,” he said, though his words were soft and quiet. 

He cleared his throat and tried again. “Just a few scrapes and bruises, Leroy. Knocked the wind outta myself, that's all. So don't get yourself worked up for nothing. I'm not made out of glass – I won't shatter at a little bump.” There. He sounded more like himself this time, the syllables growing stronger, sharper – slightly serrated at the edges, ribboned with scorn. 

Yet there was no true fire beneath his words. Exhaustion was curling its way around his bones, a poisonous serpent whose fanged teeth drained away all strength. Leaving only weakness. His chest was tight, as if the cage of his ribs was two sizes too small, and there were bands of steel making it hard to drag in a proper breath.

JJ was frowning at him, as if he could see the emotions flickering in technicolor through Yuri's eyes, those twinned emeralds chipped and cold in their weariness. 

“C'mon,” the other skater said after a long moment. “I'll show you where the first aid kit is.”

Yuri winced as he pushed his torn palms against the ice to climb to his feet. He was aware of JJ's slight outstretched hand just inches away, as if the dark-haired lad was restraining the urge to help. Yet he must have known the Russian would never accept it. 

It certainly could have been a worse fall, Yuri told himself, ignoring the curious gazes of Mila and Georgi as he followed his nemesis across the ice. One of his shins was aching with a sharp pain that promised some exquisite bruising beneath his black training pants – dappled navies and violets blooming across pale skin. But what were bruises to a skater of their caliber? Old friends. It could have been a worse fall – yet that knowledge did little to salvage the tatters of his pride.

His palms were burning as he followed JJ into the locker room – though part of Yuri's mind was scolding him for his foolish behavior, tagging along like a kid brother. For acquiescing to the offer of help, as if it were something that he needed. But his body felt like one giant bruise and he couldn't summon the energy to protest.

Yuri felt foolish as JJ pointed to the sinks – but he went to them regardless. Cool water stung against the torn flesh, washing away the tiny garnet pebbles of blood that clung to his palms. He swore under his breath as soap came next, pink bubbles that burned briefly. Then more water. Cleaning away any dirt that might have sunk beneath the skin. 

The air burned his skin even more than the water had, and it was almost mesmerizing to watch blood struggle to well up again, pink tinged tears from two of the deeper gouges against his flesh. 

The ice could be as brutal as it was beautiful.

JJ was waiting at one of the benches when Yuri shuffled over, shoulders hunched slightly. The first aid kit was open beside him, and the quickness of its retrieval spoke of a heavy familiarity with this building. It must have been the Canadian's home rink, which explained how Yakov knew to bring his team here for pre-practice work outs.

“This really isn't necessary,” Yuri grumbled as JJ rummaged through the first aid kit. The words came out slow and heavy, each letter carved from marble. “I heal fast. Gimme a few days and they'll be good as new.” 

But the words faded into silence when the other boy looked up, arching one of those dark brows. JJ's gaze was determined, stubborn. And Yuri felt too weary to fight. His head was aching fiercely again, a steady drumbeat against the hollows of his skull. The fall had only served to make it grow worse – a throbbing note of pain that almost made his stomach feel ill. His hands burned, his shin was aching, and he felt as if every drop of energy had been drained from his body. Exhaustion wove amidst the bruises and aches, settling deep against his bones, threading through his skeleton. 

He had done this to himself, Yuri's mind reminded him cruelly. He was responsible for every throb of pain, every moment of exhaustion – born from his own bad decisions. Lilia was right again. He needed to do better. He needed to take this pain as penance for inadequacy.

He had been landing triple salchows since he was Junior. How could he have flubbed such a jump so _badly_? It shook him to his core.

“Let me see your hands,” JJ said quietly, and Yuri found his palms unfurling like delicate flowers, pale petals stained pink. The skin was rough and raw – an ugly reminder that even champions shouldn't be arrogant enough to forsake basic training equipment. But JJ didn't scold him. Just frowned with concentration as he took one of Yuri's hands within his. 

And Yuri suddenly found it harder to breathe. His hand looked so much smaller in the large, square palm of the Canadian – honeyed skin against milk, yet JJ's touch was gentle and soft. So why did it feel as if each of his nerves had woken up from a deep slumber, aware of the warmth radiating from JJ's palms – embers burning beneath the skin, a soft electricity that thrummed through his bones and into the pit of Yuri's stomach.

It was more unnerving than the fall itself. Maybe he really had struck his head upon the ice during the tumble and just hadn't noticed. That could happen, right? It was the only explanation for the fluttering in his stomach and the way his fingers trembled slightly against JJ's touch.

Luckily, JJ chose that exact moment to start brushing antibiotic cream against the raw, torn flesh of Yuri's palms, and although he could tell the other boy was trying to be gentle, there was a flash of pain across his sensitized nerves.

Yuri felt too tired to even yelp or swear or snatch his hand away as he normally would have done. He just gritted his teeth, eyes flickering away from their hands and up towards JJ's face. Those dark brows were knit in concentration, full lips pressed firmly together as if he was wielding a scalpel in surgery – not cleaning a small wound. 

Then came thin strips of gauze wrapped around his palms like fingerless mittens to keep the bandages in place. Yuri didn't know whether the bandages looked more pathetic or ridiculous. 

JJ's eyes had flickered up to watch his face - he could feel the other's gaze like fingertips brushing against his skin. Even though the injuries had been very minor, cleaned and bandaged – he seemed to look even more worried than he had before. 

“You shouldn't have pushed yourself so hard this close to the competition,” JJ finally said, his voice quiet. “What if you had twisted your ankle? Broken your wrist? You were skating fine until your coach spoke to you.”

Exhaustion had bloomed into apathy. Fire suffocated beneath a sea of ash, leaving nothing but smoke unfurling in the wind. He just wanted to slink back to his hotel, form a nest of blankets and pillows and bury himself within the heart of it. Curling up and sleeping for a thousand years sounded nothing short of perfection right now. He didn't have the energy to argue, to sling curses and insults like handfuls of ice. 

“Fine isn't good enough for the podium,” he said tiredly. “We both know that.”

“What did she say to you, chaton?” JJ asked. He reached out, pushing a damp strand of hair away from Yuri's eyes, the tawny gold burnished to a darkened bronze with sweat. 

Yuri froze at the touch. As gentle as the rain that had kissed his cheeks only the night before. As soft as sunshine brushing against the skin. A tenderness that was so foreign to the boy who wore snarls and glares the way he wore his leather jacket – both as a shield and a warning to the world. Yet the faint touch warmed his skin, a steady glow uncurling through his veins. For a brief heartbeat, he wanted to lean into the touch, savor the softness.

He jerked away from JJ's hand, as wary as a feral cat stalking through an alleyway. His heart was pounding again, almost dizzy with warmth and unease and an overwhelming sense of confusion. 

“She said I need to start taking this competition a little more seriously,” he muttered, lips curving down into a frown. The words were hoarse around the edges, as if they were scrapping against his throat before he could choke out each syllable

“That salope,” JJ swore, his voice threaded with a note Yuri had never heard before. It was a low growl of frustration, darkened with anger. “You already work harder than almost any other skater I've met. You always have. Does she want you to kill yourself on the ice?” 

“Watch it, Leroy,” Yuri growled, though his words lacked their usual venom. He didn't need to know French to guess what he had called Lilia. But he was strangely grateful for the word – this was familiar territory, at least. He clung to it like it was a life preserve, orange plastic safety through a sea of confusion. “Say what you want about me, but she's my coach. Off limits.”

JJ's tense shoulders seemed to relax, the anger visibly fading as stiff muscles unwound. “Sorry,” he said finally, the word emerging more as a sigh unraveling its way from his chest. He shook his head, that inky dark hair spilling over his eyes once more, so elegantly messy. 

Yuri sighed as well, lifting his bandaged hands up to his forehead, pressing fingers against his skull in small circles. He closed his eyes, lashes forming golden crescents against his skin. The headache was getting stronger. Practice was over, even if it had been a terrific failure. He needed to go back to the hotel. Spend an eternity in the shower with scalding water brushing his skin pink, as if the heat could wash away the shame and disappointment of this entire miserable day. Then collapse in bed and sleep until tomorrow, which would hopefully prove itself to be better. 

It had to be better. Official practices were tomorrow. The eyes of the judges would be watching, and the stands would be scattered with spectators special or lucky enough to have earned a ticket to the event. He needed to make an impression tomorrow, in the hearts of everyone watching. He needed to be perfect.

Doubt trickled cold against his skin, a secret ache within his ribs. What if he couldn't do it? Destined to live forever in the shadows of others, never gaining the brilliant glory of his own name. He had broken the world record twice over - yet he still lived in Viktor's shadow. He didn't want to be Russia's second-favorite son. He didn't want to be The Other Yuri. He wanted the world to taste the name “Yuri Plisetsky” upon their lips like a prayer, a word of wonder and beauty and awe. He wanted to make his grandfather proud, looking down upon him from pearlescent clouds. He wanted to be remembered.

What if he couldn't make it happen? What if his name became synonymous with second-best, just not quite good enough? So close and yet so far, his efforts crumbling into powdered ash, forgotten by time itself. 

He could feel JJ's eyes on him again. The weight of his gaze was like a touch of its own. Quiet. Calculating. Heavy with curiosity.

“Stop it,” Yuri groaned, lashes fluttering open to glare at JJ. “I can feel you staring.”

He couldn't name the emotion that was brimming in those blue eyes – dark sparks that seemed to be a mixture of concern and the vague ghost of something else - a ribbon of pensive reflection that JJ wasn't exactly known for. 

It was strange. One moment, JJ's gaze was thoughtful, worried. Then there was a flash of something – resolve woven with determination. And Yuri could almost see the curtains descend behind his eyes, plush velvet fabric lowering slowly to hide all emotion from view. 

One moment, he had been watching that strange new JJ, the one who kept trying to go out of his way to offer help when none was needed, the one who offered coffee and bandages, whose eyes burned with an indigo fire born out of frustration when he thought Yuri's coach had treated him unfairly.

And the next, JJ's eyes had lowered, a sleepy half-lidded gaze. His lips had curled into a lazy grin, the familiar smirk dancing at the corners, one dark eyebrow raising in an amused arch. “Don't push yourself too hard,” the King drawled as he leaned back upon the bench, resting his weight casually upon his palms. “The silver medal isn't worth killing yourself for.”

Yuri's spine stiffened as if someone had melted steel into his marrow, and his vision blurred with crimson sparks. “I didn't come here for silver,” he snapped immediately.

JJ's smirk seemed to deepen with satisfaction, looking remarkably pleased with himself. His voice was practically a purr. “You're not going to beat me, chaton. That gold is mine.”

How did the Canadian know how to push every one of his buttons? Except this time, he wasn't content with provoking a snaky response or a sour-noted curse. He was laughing as he poured the gasoline over the other boy's pride, smirking as he lit the match and sent it soaring in Yuri's direction.

“You think you're better than me?” Yuri snarled.

JJ gave him a serene smile. “I know I am.” This time, his eyes were clearly laughing. 

Yuri scrambled to his feet, glaring at JJ. It was hard to breathe again. But not because of fake kindness or some sort of stupid touch. It was fury, a hurricane of anger lashing at his bones, an exquisite tempest that screamed behind his ribs. Flames were licking at his veins, crimson weaving with gold and hearts of ivory white. After the exhaustion of this afternoon – the headache, the weariness, the fall, his pride thoroughly bruised – he leaned into the storm of rage gladly. 

“That's bullshit, Leroy,” he sneered, emerald sparks burning in his eyes. “You've got power and your jumps have height – but you're still a shit skater. I could run laps around you, any day of the week.”

“Prove it,” JJ's lashes lowered, and this time, his smile was something smug. As pleased as a cat who had broken into a bottle of cream and could finally savor the spoils of its work. 

Yuri glared. “What?” he growled, fingers curled into bandaged palms to create frustrated fists.

JJ really did laugh this time, a low chuckled that was soft and rich, velvet warmth spilling into the air. “Let's make this competition a little more interesting,” he suggested. “Something a little more fun than medals. Let's call it a friendly wager.”

“What kind of wager?” Yuri asked through gritted teeth. Only strength of will (and the guarded skates on his feet) kept him from kicking JJ as hard as he could. How could the other boy infuriate him at the drop of a hat?

JJ steepled his index fingers together, pressing them against his lips in an exaggerated expression of thoughtfulness, falling silent for a long moment. It was a gesture that Yuri knew was calculated to annoy him even further. It worked.

“The short program is in three days,” JJ exclaimed, as if the idea had just struck him. Yuri knew better. “Whoever gets the best score wins.”

Now Yuri was wary, eyes narrowing as he stared at his rival. “What does the winner get?” he asked. His palms ached – torn flesh protesting the nails that tried to dig crescent moons against the bandages. He forced them to uncurl.

That smug smile deepened. “Whatever they want,” JJ murmured, laughter blurring the edges of his voice. Then his expression smoothed, his blue eyes widening with faux concern. “Unless you're worried, of course. If you're too scared to wager, I'll completely understand.”

He offered the words like a bouquet of hemlock – blossoms like ivory lace stretching paled fingers towards the sky, beautiful – and deadly. Sweet poison through every inch.

The blond boy twisted his lips into another snarl, the challenge only serving to fan the flames of his anger. The fury was almost intoxicating in its ferocity, beautiful crystalline fractures dazzling crimson beneath his skin. It was pure energy injected straight into his veins.

“You're on, Leroy,” Yuri growled, arms folded aggressively across his chest. Blond hair fell around his face, wisps of cornsilk slipping from the plait that fell between his shoulder- blades. He gave JJ one last silent snarl, and turned to stalk away,

For a single heart-beat, he thought he glimpsed something in those dark eyes. The laughter faltering and something akin to regret shimmering in those murky depths. It was a brief flash, an echo rippling through shadowed waters - gone before its ghost could be recognized. 

It was only his imagination, Yuri knew. Nothing more.

He would beat JJ if it was the last thing he ever did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH! Am I turning into a broken record yet? Thank you thank you thank you for all of your beautiful comments and all of the hearts and kudos - my heart is just glowing from so much love! Without your encouragement, I'm sure I'd still be stuck on Chapter 2! Thank you for sticking around and reading and for all of your wonderful, inspiring words! ^_^


	6. Your Downfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the short program has arrived, and Yuri is getting into the spirit of the competition at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS! OH MY GOD! GUYS! 
> 
> Wanna see something amazing? Check out this STUNNING art-work done by Aegisdea aka Drei for Chapter 3 - it's so perfect and I am dying. Also, check out Drei's Tumblr and prepare to swoon over all of the magical artwork you'll see there! Thank you SO MUCH, lovely! I am so honored and thrilled!
> 
> <http://aegisdea.tumblr.com/post/154518007041/i-think-you-will-naturally-do-the-exact-opposite>

Yuri leaned over the marbled counter of the bathroom sinks, staring at himself in the mirror. The stalls behind him were empty, though the bathroom was strewn with clothing, makeup, bottles of hair-spray – like the littered debris cast across a beach after a storm. Except this storm was merely a few dozen figure skaters preparing to unleash their short programs upon the world.

Even here, in this empty bathroom, he could hear the roar of applause, the thunder of feet stomping upon the floor – a wave of vibration wrapping through his mind.

The past two days had been a blur – every spare moment filled with preparation for the most important event of the season. There had been official practices under the eyes of an eager audience and curious judges - Yuri wove across the ice while other skaters vied for attention. He had listened with a pensive frown while Yakov rumbled last minute advice and Lilia attempted to give encouragement. He had grimaced a pained smile for the camera every time he found himself caught by one of “his” angels (Lilia had finally managed to beat that lesson into his thick skull). There were warm ups back on the ice at the smaller practice rink. He answered what felt like a million and one interview questions from dozens of sources – microphones jammed into his face and cameras flashing like an ocean of stars burning beneath his eyelids until they were all he could see.

It was exhausting. Yet every time Yuri turned around, whenever his energy began to flag and doubt began to uncurl its way through his stomach... There was that familiar Canadian with his stupid face and his stupid smirk and his stupid voice laughing in his ear.

“When I win, maybe I'll have you skate the gala wearing tiger ears,” JJ had said thoughtfully, when Yuri was growling about his fifth interview in three hours. “I think your angels will love that!”

 _I'm going to make him shave off one eyebrow,_ Yuri remembered fuming to himself, fingers clenching into a stoneheart fist at his side. _When the gold is mine. Let's see how smug he feels then_

“When I win, maybe I'll want you to model for my clothing company,” JJ had mused when Yuri was standing behind the rink board with a blank face but glaring eyes, watching a new group of skaters step confidently onto the ice for yet another perfect practice, a swarm of potential challengers all vying for the gold. Trying to determine which (if any) were true threats.

 _No, I'll make him skate his exhibition program to Celine Dion instead,_ he changed his mind.

“When I win, maybe I'll want you to tell Instagram that you're the president of my fan club,” JJ had pondered aloud as Yuri held a bag of ice to his bruised leg after one last un-official practice session at the Canadian's home rink. 

The laughter spilling over from those stormy-sea eyes did not mirror the snarl on the Russian's lips.

JJ felt like pebbles thrown against the glass pane of a night-kissed window – impossible to ignore. A constant irritation to the senses until the sound of silence became foreign, breath-held in anticipation for it to break. Until Yuri found himself bracing for the sound of JJ's voice to shatter the quietness, to snap through his concentration with carefully calculated annoyance. Until his presence was no longer a surprise, but an inevitability.

Yesterday, JJ's group was called for their turn within the rink, and Yuri had found himself studying the other boy carefully. JJ stepped onto the ice with his usual confident swagger, as if his skates had been become a part of his body, those metal blades as familiar as fingers and elbows. Not even the judges could have been watching with more concentration. Beryl eyes like sea glass with edges still sharp dissected every movement, weighing every weakness and every strength. 

Until the embers in Yuri's veins began to flicker again, golden light gleaming amongst crimson hearts, a molten core beginning to stir, slowly wakening once more. Fury fading, the tempest burning down into a controlled inferno – a steady burn of determination smoldering beneath the skin.

JJ was the strongest rival he had. 

Yuri had felt a strange quiver of excitement uncurl within his stomach when he watched JJ's strong legs gather themselves, muscles tensing, clenching – and then he threw himself into the air as if gravity was a suggestion and not a rule. His jumps had height, fueled by power as if he was trying to hurl himself into the stars to become a new constellation that lovers would tilt their heads back to make wishes upon. Even in practice, JJ was clearing that triple axel as easily as a single and the satisfied smile on his lips only grew deeper with every smooth landing.

He hated JJ and yet he couldn't tear his eyes away. 

Yuri watched the entire practice, fists shoved deep into the pockets of his Team Russia jacket, and for the first time in a long time, he had felt flames of resolution tracing across the ladder of his spine. Those cold whispers of doubt tried to whisper in his ears, most of them bearing the sharp jeweled voice of Lilia – but their ice couldn't seem to overwhelm the scorching certainty twisting in his chest – the knowledge that he had to beat JJ. No matter what happened. 

Losing against him just wasn't an option.

The day of the short program had dawned, and now Yuri was standing above a marbled sink, palms against cool stone, eyes closed and head bowed. But when his eyes snapped open and his reflection was staring back at himself, he was startled to find that the emotion unraveling behind his ribs... It was excitement. A primal, hungry sort of excitement that he hadn't felt in a long time, as if the heart of a panther was stirring inside of his chest and the scent of blood was floating in the air. It was a thrilling heat, almost exquisitely painful as it rivered through his veins. He couldn't wait to shove his victory in JJ's face – to finally deflate the Canadian's ego, to show him who was truly worthy of wearing gold.

The Championship had begun in earnest. 

Time did its funny little dance, one moment waltzing by as quickly as it could, and the next practically swaying in place, each moment seeming to last forever. But Yuri held his patience like a jewel behind his ribs, each facet a reflection of his focus while minutes dragged their heels like hours and hours spun away like seconds. 

He was grateful for this brief moment of peace as his own performance approached. He had spent the past two hours prowling the hallways and rooms backstage, where the other skaters and coaches waited for their turn. And as he paced, he could feel their curious glances – soaking in the burning embers of his eyes, those emeralds smudged with lapis, taking in the sight of his feral, fierce smile. Energy crackled like lightning from his restless limbs, waiting for his turn to take the ice.

The others looked at him as if they could sense that he was a man with a jaguar heart, howling and prowling and hungry for victory. How were his teeth not sharpening into fangs, his blonde hair into golden fur, fingernails stretching into wicked claws? Even trapped in the body of a boy, the others could see that fierce sparkle in his eyes – and they gave him a wide berth. Even Yakov had given Yuri a puzzled glance, and contented himself with silence instead of offering last-minute reminders. 

He had watched JJ's short performance on the flattened screen of a large television where the other skaters waited. Part of him had hoped that the other would fall flat on his face, leave a smear of blood across the ice. But another part of him wanted to see the Canadian in his element. Wanted to watch JJ claw his way to the top, wanted to see each jump carved from perfection – just so he could shatter them into dust with his own. 

There was no satisfaction in winning gold amongst the untalented, the undriven, the unimportant. There was no triumph in an easy win. He would not taste victory unless JJ gave it everything he had. Only then would success be as sweet as wine blooming upon the tip of his tongue – like it had felt when he had beat Viktor's world record for the first time. To be the best, he had to beat the best. 

And JJ threw himself into the performance as if he was squeezing every ounce of emotion from the pulp of his heart. No hesitation. Just passion and power and that same rougish smile that was his trademark, as he swept across the ice. It wasn't a perfect performance – but it was close. So fucking close.

97.61, the judges decided. And in the Kiss and Cry, JJ had laughed and hugged his coach, twisting his fingers into those stupid Js. Of course, he was proud. 

JJ was leading the short programs. But there were still two dozen skaters left to go. Including Yuri himself.

Time was slipping away, and Yuri saw the fire in his eyes grow brighter – his reflection shifting in the mirrored glass, almost tremoring with the wild energy fire screaming in his veins. Excitement was growing. How long had it been since he had felt this way before a competition? It felt like it had been centuries – buried beneath a world of ivy and crumbling brick, forgotten. But now the dust had been blown away, the cobwebs brushed aside – and the excitement was still there – shining all the brighter now that it had been freed from its tomb.

And now he couldn't stay rooted in one place, and yet neither could he interact with his other rivals, dozens of bumbling idiots whose voices grated on his ears. They filtered away anyways, one after another, as they were called to the ice. Finally, he had found this bathroom to himself, where he could pace and stretch in peace, sharpening his focus like a blade upon a whetstone.

Which brought him here, staring at his own reflection as he waited for the minutes to pass. It was almost time. Yet it felt an eternity away.

The prickle of his skin was his warning, hair against his nape rising in a whisper as he leaned against the marble. After the past two days of sudden appearances when he least expected it... His body had learned to recognize when JJ was close by. So he wasn't surprised to look over his shoulder and see the other skater leaning in the doorway, watching.

JJ still wore the flush of his success, strands of dark hair still damp with sweat, almost iridescent beneath the lights like black-oil rainbows against cement. And those blue-ash eyes met sea-glass green – mirrored gazes both fierce and proud and determined and thrilled. One man victorious, one man prepared to wrench that victory away.

Yuri watched the lazy grin cross JJ's lips as he pushed himself away from the doorway, long legs crossing the floor with seeming indifference. Yet the younger man could see the way his muscles coiled, tensed and released into that barely controlled swagger - the Canadian was flying high on his own success – intoxicated on the adrenaline of a beautiful performance.

“What do you want?” Yuri asked as the boy approached. He kept his voice bored, emotionless, but he twisted his body around as JJ approached, turning his spine to the mirror. 

“I came to wish you luck,” JJ said with that electric grin, a devilish gleam beneath his long, dark lashes as he approached.

It was almost a shock to see JJ standing directly in front of him. One moment, the boy was feet away, and the next, the distance had melted like wax, dripping between his fingers to bloom against the floor. Now, JJ was just a breath away, mischief burning in those indigo eyes. If Yuri reached up one hand, he could easily swing a fist into that perfect face. Or he could use his fingertips to trace across the smirk that crooked the corner of JJ's lips. 

The world slowed down. And suddenly, Yuri was aware of how close the other man was. He could sense every inch that separated their bodies – and how little distance that truly was, cells calling to cells from across the void. He could sense the heat radiating from JJ's body, reflecting the mischief sparking in those eyes. So close.

Why was it suddenly harder to breathe? Yuri could feel his heart speed up, racing and dancing against his ribs as if he had just stepped upon the ice. Surely JJ could hear the way it pounded, that throbbing pulse that sounded like a bass drum against his bones. Was that why he leaned in closer? So he could hear the drumsong?

His breath caught in his throat when JJ leaned in further, and his eyes closed in spite of himself. Golden-lashes fluttering down into crescents, and Yuri felt the warm whisper of hot breath against his ear. He felt dizzy again, his skin flushed with heat, flames kissing his veins. His legs trembled, and he felt suddenly grateful for the marbled counter against his back, stone support to keep him from falling as the entire world shifted around him.

“Good luck, Yuri,” JJ murmured softly into his ear, stretching the syllables out into a purr, low and warm and laughing.

And then with those three simple words, he was gone.

Yuri's eyes snapped open to stare around him, legs threatening to collapse with shock. The room felt empty without the other boy's presence, the spirit that took up as much space as it could. His skin felt cold, confusion and dismay brushing chilled fingers across his flesh.

What the _fuck_ had just happened? 

He didn't know what was producing more confusion - JJ's actions or his own body's reaction to them. The Canadian adored pushing his buttons, words as weapons to inflame a snarling response. Yet never had he done anything like this – come directly into Yuri's space to provoke a reaction. He shouldn't have been surprised, yet he was. But his own reaction... That was worse. 

The entire world had shifted on its axis, the fabric of his reality unwoven and threads pulled apart, and sewn back together again. Except now, everything was upside down and inside out, and nothing was familiar here. The ground beneath his feet felt as weak as rotten ice – like one wrong move would send the earth cracking while he plunged to his demise. 

Yuri closed his eyes, grateful that no one else was in the room. At least he would be spared that mortification. But he was still shaken.

And that was the point, he realized after a long moment. 

JJ was trying to rattle him. It was as simple as that. His rival was trying to shake him off his game. Provoke a storm of chaos and seed it with confusion, letting a jungle of turbulence break his focus. It was a sneaky, underhanded ploy, but Yuri couldn't blame him. All was fair in war, right? JJ was just trying to eliminate the threat. Win the bet – and the Championship along with it. 

He took a deep, shuddering breath. His fists clenched at his side. One deep breath. And then another. Feeling oxygen swell within his lungs, steadying himself. Logic was beginning to spread through his mind. Clarity, mirror sharp. 

If JJ was trying to unnerve him this close to performance... Perhaps the other was threatened. Perhaps the dark-haired boy wasn't as certain of his gold medal victory as he pretended to be. And his own body's response? That meant nothing. It was every nerve being on high alert from adrenaline and excitement, the thrill of approaching battle, that primal surge of energy begging to be released, hungry for victory. Nothing else.

Another deep breath, and the world felt as if it was beginning to settled itself around him. Making sense once more. Flipping right side up, puzzle pieces snapping into place, and the earth steady beneath his feet. 

And when Yuri's eyes snapped open again, there was a ghost of a smile on his lips, that predatory, hungry smile. Determination burning in his gaze, exhilaration buzzing once more through his veins. JJ was trying a new tactic, trying to change the game. But he wouldn't win.

That smile stayed curled at the edges of his lips when Yakov appeared in the doorway, beckoning. His turn had arrived, and the slender man shrugged off his jacket, passing it silently to his bewildered coach as he stalked forward, prepared for battle.

His theme this year was simplistic at its core – Heaven and Hell. What did that mean? Redemption and damnation. Virtue and sin. The beauty of the light. The beauty of the darkness. A touch unoriginal, perhaps. But for the first year ever, the choreography was all his own. And Yuri knew that the judges would be enthralled, if he could just nail every jump.

And he would.

The ice was calling his name. Yuri could hear its song as he strode through the winding tunnels, as he stepped behind the rink board. It whispered in his blood as he stepped onto the ice, as he glided forward to take his position at the heart of the rink. And the boy slipped into character with ease, pulled its skin up around him like a chrysalis, the way butterflies must ache to do sometimes even after they'll spread their wings into the world.

His blouse was a deep crimson red, though its color shifted and darkened into deep midnight black pants that hugged his long longs. It plunged downwards in the front, from neck almost to navel – something much more revealing than anything he had ever worn before. With every shift of his body, he seemed to glitter – the sequins catching the light like black diamonds woven amongst rubies. 

His hair was pulled back into a pony-tail, pale winter-sun silk that brushed just past his shoulder blades. It showed off his sharp cheekbones, the defined angle of his jawline – a faerie prince stepped from the Unseelie court. Beautiful. Untouchable. Black kohl smudged around his eyes, the charcoal makeup making his gaze burn all the more vivid. They flickered with emerald flame one moment, then azure the next – bright and fierce and feral.

And Yuri could feel thousands of eyes upon him, the judges and the audience and the cameras, the world holding its breath. Nothing else mattered except this moment. Nothing else existed. 

Just him. And the ice.

The music began, a single violin curling through the air, haunting and fragile like a dream. He ran his hands over his neck, fingers sliding across his nape and pulling down his chest, tantalizing, teasing slowly down his stomach. Haughty. Teasing. Biting his lip. 

Then the drum beat started, pulsing through his veins, such a primal sound. The echo of a heart-beat, the call of something wild. Fierce, powerful, mingling with the violin to capture his dark beauty, lithe and hypnotic. And he was off – flying across the ice. 

Yuri was temptation in the form of a man. _Look at me,_ his arms reached out, delicate fingers elegantly stretching up towards the stands. _Look at my beauty._ He was an invocation, and every spiral across the ice was a rune of enchantment. Every jump was a spell woven across the senses.  
He flew.

His heart was pounding so hard, drowning in the power, the joy, and he laughed.

The crowd screamed, and he let them see his smile. The wicked grin that held such promise. _I can show you pleasure,_ his smile pledged. _I can show you untold wonders. I can give you fire. You will sacrifice the world for me,_ his hands vowed as his fingers wove through the air, curving beckoningly. Calling them forth. Enticing. 

He gave himself over to the performance completely, carried by the music. Carried by the crowd. Carried by the perfection of each powerful movement, the beauty of each move. Elegant. Enchanting. His body moved with a mind of its own, every brutal hour of practice paying off at this exact moment.

Triple Lutz. Triple toe. He flew. Every movement perfect. He was flawless. He was the most beautiful monster. 

He could feel their approval, their desire. Letting it wash over him. Letting it fuel him. _Worship me,_ his face said to the crowd. _I shall be your religion. Kneel at my feet and I shall show you glory. Mine is the beauty that will break you to pieces. I will shatter you and you shall love me for it. You will beg for more._

He leaned back into a layback spin, head tilted back, the world ricocheting around him, arms spread backwards. His heart pounded faster, one arm raising elegantly towards the sky. The other hand reached down to grasp his skate, pulling his leg upwards. Head tilted back, silvered blade against his golden-hair – and then he was shifting easily into a Biellmann. His heart burnt bright with pleasure as he spun faster, knowing what a figure he made. His arms held high above his head, gripping his skate, perfect tear-drop posture. Elegant, supple – few male skaters had the flexibility to try such a move. 

But he wasn't just anyone. He was hypnotic. He was enchanting. He was the prince of the flames, the demon lover. He was their beautiful sin. The crowd screamed louder. 

He laughed to himself, intoxicated on their cheers, on the thrill of an almost perfect performance. _Beg for the pleasure,_ he told them silently. _Beg for the pain. Beg for the beauty of damnation. Wicked desires. Dangerous temptation. I shall be your downfall._

The song came to an end with a pounding flourish, and he stood upon the ice, gasping in huge lungfuls of air. His heart was pounding so hard, flushed with success, and every muscle trembled with exhaustion. And when he bowed towards the judges, and again towards the audience, he caught a glimpse of JJ standing behind the rink board.

He looked stunned, as if Yuri's performance was an open palm slapping across his face. Those dark eyes wide, astonished, lips parted gently in an expression of total surprise. And something more. The astonishment melted into appreciation, a glimmer of fierce pride – and a sparkle of hunger. There was desire smoldering in those granite depths, carved into the marble. 

Flowers and feline plushies rained down upon him, and all Yuri could hear was the scream of the crowd, thousands of voices forming an ocean, waves of approval threatening to drown him. All he could hear was their calls. 

And all he could see that that stunned look in JJ's eyes, that sparkle of pride, and the desire burning in those depths.


	7. Keeping Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to claim the prize for the short-program victory! And also time for some skipping down memory lane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays to all of you lovelies who are celebrating these next few days!

The knock on his door echoed through the quietness as evening settled firmly into night, and Yuri found himself flying across the hotel room, practically tripping over the clothes that spilled from the luggage case thrown in the middle of the floor. 

He knew what was waiting on the other side, but he still couldn't help the satisfied smirk when he saw JJ standing in the hallway, his arms filled with a cat-carrier. It was covered in a thick fleece blanket, yet he could still hear the questioning little 'mew' that came from within.

“I didn't think you were going to come,” he said, stepping back quickly to usher the other boy inside, away from any prying eyes from other competitors or nosy coaches or disapproving hotel staff. 

JJ lifted his shoulders into an easy shrug. “We had a deal,” he said mildly. “I keep my promises.” 

98.38. 

That was Yuri's score. He almost hadn't believed it, sitting in the Kiss and Cry after his performance. It wasn't a personal best, yet when the score had been announced, Lilia had actually grabbed his hand, her parchment skin soft and cool, squeezing his fingers tightly. Her eyes had shimmered with diamonds, and he knew then that it had been a perfect performance. Only beauty and perfection could stir her heart. 

That was almost as sweet as knowing that he had beaten JJ. It was a close victory, not even an entire point – yet it was nectar against his tongue. Candied-sugar intoxication and the thrill was almost dizzying. 

And the moment his triumph had been secured, he hadn't hesitated to make his demand. While other rivals were celebrating (or mourning) their short program performances over drinks and feasts, enjoying the last evening hours with their coaches, their friends, their fellow skaters..... Yuri knew the perfect way to celebrate his short program victory. Resting in his hotel room, far from the foolish laughter and overwhelming friendliness of his peers – far away from all humans who made his shoulders hunch with discomfort, made his eyes narrow into daggered glares. Alone except for a kitten to snuggle and play with. A slumber party for Rajah and Yuri alone.

JJ had stared at him for a long, silent moment when Yuri had claimed his victory, and the sigh that had tangled from the Canadian's chest was long-suffering – yet resigned.

Yuri had expected far more complaining, perhaps heavy grumbles like gravel against the throat, tinged with annoyance. Exasperation or at least some mild eye-rolling at the inconvenience JJ would have to go through – collecting Rajah after a long day of performances, criss-crossing the city to drop him off at Yuri's hotel room, and retracing his steps to return home again.

Yet here JJ was, striding through the doorway with the cat carrier in his hands, looking around the room with an expression of mild amusement painted over his face. Taking in the sight of the clothing strewn haphazardly around the floor, leather jacket thrown over the chair, contrasting vividly with the team Russia jacket draped beside it. A laptop smothered in stickers peeked out from the blankets tangled into a nest on one of the beds, while the second bed was pristine.

JJ didn't even arch an eyebrow at the clutter, but the fair-haired youth could have sworn he saw the amusement deepen. It was only then that Yuri noticed the backpack thrown over JJ's shoulder, and he immediately narrowed his eyes. 

“That better be filled toys for Rajah's sleepover,” he said, arms folding across his chest, glaring.

JJ arched one dark eyebrow imperiously as he set the cat carrier down gently upon the unmangled bed, shrugging off the backpack that bulged with far more weight than toys could account for. 

“You really think I'm going to trust you alone with my cat again?” JJ laughed, already beginning to unpack the kitten's supplies. “I don't want to knock on the door in the morning, only to discover you're both on your way back to Russia. Where Rajah goes, I go.” 

Yuri scowled. JJ, it seemed, had thought of everything. He had a little plastic shoe-box filled with litter, a little bowl of food and another for water – and even a handful of toys for the impromptu visit. But the rest of his backpack seemed stuffed with a tangle of clothing.

The excitement of his kitten-visitor was dulled beneath the realization that Rajah was a package deal.

“You should have mentioned that before,” Yuri complained. His heart was pounding again, dismay curling across his skin at the thought of sharing a room with the other boy, even for a night. 

“I'll sleep in the other bed, and you won't even know I'm here,” JJ said, and his voice was quieter than usual. Yuri realized the other boy had frozen, no longer setting up Rajah's dishes, but pausing for soft permission. Dark hair spilling over such a serious face that stared into his.

There was no hunger in JJ's eyes anymore. Not a single flicker of desire smoldering in that blue-steel gaze. Not a trace of yearning. They were oceans of amusement, shrouded in thick lashes. Yet behind the amusement, Yuri thought he recognized something else. There was hesitation there, hidden beneath the smiles.

Had he imagined the desire earlier? Had he truly seen those indigo flames, the sparks of lust that gleamed so brightly? Had it been a momentary feeling through the other boy's body – brought on by the appreciation of a beautiful performance? Nothing more?

Did it bother him, the thought that JJ might have looked upon him with desire – the king aching for the touch of the faerie prince? Or did it bother him more to think that it was gone? That it had never existed at all?

Yuri closed his eyes as he felt the familiar pull rush through his mind, those tidal waves of confusion that kept breaking over his body whenever he was around JJ lately. Not knowing what he felt or why he felt it, except his mouth was filled with salt and his blood had turned into ribbons of sunset uncurling in his veins. An ocean of bewildered chaos.

“Yuri?” There was that hesitation again, a faint note of concern bleeding into JJ's voice when he gently said the other boy's name. The silence had grown too strong. Stretched too long.

“Fine,” Yuri growled, letting a scowl cross his lips. He refused to look at JJ again – rather kneeling in front of the cat carrier, and letting the door swing open to reveal the kitten he was still secretly determined to steal someday. 

A half-hour later, Yuri had to admit that it wasn't as awkward as he had feared it would be. He was sprawled out upon his stomach, peering over the edge of his bed while he watched Rajah explore the hotel room, grinning softly to himself while he watched the kitten wrestle with blankets, with the shoe-laces of his converse, trying to hop into the trash-can. 

True to his word, JJ had taken up residence on the other bed, alarmingly quiet for such a typically boisterous lad. But he didn't look upset – Yuri kept stealing glances when he knew the other boy wasn't paying attention. The Canadian sat easily upon the bed, back pressed against the head-board and a notebook propped against his knees, pen scrawling idly over blank pages. Brows knit in concentration, lips occasionally parting to mouth silent syllables. 

But sometimes, Yuri thought he could feel a steady gaze upon him, curious warmth from sapphire eyes. 

It was quiet and it was calm – two boys exhausted after a day of adrenaline and sweat and physical exertion, but the stillness was soothing in its own way. One lost in his own head, and the other almost-completely enamored by the playful kitten who had discovered the fascinating adventures that a hotel room could offer.

When stomachs began to growl, gurgling monsters rearing their heads to break the silence, JJ was quick to roll over and grab his phone. Five minutes later, pizza was ordered, and the other boy finally shoved his notebook away, tall legs unfolding to rise to his feet with a lazy stretch. Lips parted into a heavy yawn, fingers idly running through dark silken hair.

“Mind if I steal your shower?” JJ asked, clearly still on his best behavior.

The Russian boy lifted his shoulders into a silent shrug to convey his apathy, and that was permission enough. JJ and his backpack disappeared, the door shut, and Yuri heard the soft rushing song of water flickering on, beginning to flow.

It was even quieter now. Minutes blurred. Twisted and turned and wove around themselves, until the stillness of the room felt beyond the touch of time itself. There was no time. There was only comfortable quietness broken only by the sound of water cascading against porcelain, and the rustling of a tiny orange kitten roaming the room.

Rajah had grown bolder in his exploration, discovering the laces of his skates where they rested near the door. These were somehow much more entertaining than the brilliant-laces of his converse shoes, and he happily tangled himself in their length, fanged teeth gnawing on them with all of the contentment of a kitten in the midst of mischief.

“Silly Tigryonok,” he scolded lovingly, as he rose from the bed to stride across the room. He untangled the content kitten from its nest of shoe-laces, rescuing his beloved skates from the prowl of the tiny little hunter. 

“I need those,” he whispered with a laugh. “There are plenty of other -“

And that was when the bathroom door opened beside him, and the blond boy instinctively looked up. 

Yuri's words stuttered in his throat, fading into silence, forgotten. 

Clouds of steam were rolling out from the bathroom, thanks to the opened door. JJ stood before the fog-painted mirror, staring at his own reflection while his fingers idly brushed through his damp hair. Black strands still shimmering with starlit droplets, slick and wet to fall tousled over his ears.

Beautiful like the water that beaded across his shoulders, sliding down his skin like fingertips trembling with desire. There was a white towel wrapped around his hips for modesty, yet Yuri felt like he could see almost every inch of that sun-kissed skin, golden dusk settled beneath the flesh. He could see the strength wrapped through those biceps, the muscles of his chest fading into abs that looked carved from stone, every sinew and tendon sculpted across his spine.

What would it be like to run his fingers across those sinews, to trace the ridges of his spine? To curl out his tongue and taste a drop of the water that slid across that honey skin? Would it taste sugar-sweet or would it taste of salt?

JJ must have felt his gaze, for the young man glanced away from the mirror and caught Yuri's wide eyes and slack-jawed expression. And Yuri felt his cheeks begin to burn, heat and mortification staining them pink. This seemed to amuse the other boy, for a languid smile curled across JJ's lips, those lashes lowering provocatively. 

“Can I help you?” JJ asked, tilting his head gently and arching an eyebrow. Those winter-sky eyes were laughing.

And at that moment, there was a knock on the door – sharp and obnoxious, like Mila's laugh when she pushed his buttons. Yurio had never been more grateful for food, for delivery people, for the most perfectly timed interruption he had ever experienced. 

Yet when he swung open the door, there was no pizza. There was no delivery person. There was only Christophe. His golden curls were a cap against his skull, perfect little spirals of sunlight to match the spring green of his eyes, the color of moss against the earth, the underside of new leaves beginning to unfurl. There was a bright, energetic smile on his lips, despite the program he had completed today. And despite the night hour, he was dressed in a dark pea-coat, black wool perfect for the chill spring air.

“Yuri!” Christophe sang out with that cheerful grin. “Some of us were going to go-”

And of course, that's when JJ's voice spoke up behind him, idle and distracted as if he hadn't even noticed the knocking or the opened door that brought a cool draft curling through the room. “Mind if I steal your toothpaste tonight, Yuri? I forgot mine at home -”

Christophe's eyes went wide as he caught sight of the Canadian skater with the white towel tucked around his waist like the linen skirts carved into pyramid walls. It wasn't hard to see the emotions flickering across the Swiss man's face, flashing in rapid succession. Christophe's green eyes sparked with appreciation at the nearly naked man, though the appreciation quickly morphed into amusement mingled with shock – and more than a little curiosity.

“I'm sorry,” the older man apologized quickly, and although his voice was directed towards Yuri, his gaze was still watching JJ. “I didn't realize you had company.”

Those spring-green eyes flickered for a moment back towards the Russian skater – and Yuri couldn't glare hard enough to erase the skyline arch of Christophe's brow, filled with a world of questions.

Yuri closed his eyes tightly. This had to be some sort of nightmare, right? Why wasn't he sinking into the ground? Why couldn't he disappear from this entire room and those two idiots with their stupid fucking grins? 

He was certain that his blush had become a wildfire, scalding every inch of his fair skin into a lurid crimson red. This had to have been the most mortifying moment of his entire life. He knew what other figure skaters were like. Even though they were grown men, they could still gossip worse than middle school girls, trading rumors like candy to dazzle the tongue.

That's all he needed. Everyone thinking the wrong thing and spreading rumors and giggling behind his back. In the past years, Yuri had always been open about his disdain for the Canadian. It had never been a secret to cradle against his chest. It had been a blaring fact – reinforced with every snarl, every insult, every sneer he had hurled at JJ's direction. And yet now, there was a half-naked Leroy standing in his hotel room, talking about sharing toothpaste as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Yuri couldn't shut the door fast enough on Christophe's surprised face, and he immediately whirled around to face JJ.

“Put on some fucking clothes,” he snapped, grabbing one of the extra towels and hurling it at the other boy with much more force than necessary.

He could hear JJ's soft laughter in his ears as he stalked away, scooping up the kitten and retreating to his bed – conveniently, as far away from the other skater as he could possibly get. He could still feel the blush flushed across his cheeks, burning down his neck – even the tips of his ears felt warm. 

At least JJ was clothed when he emerged from the bathroom again, wearing dark pajama pants and a simple black t-shirt. He didn't try any more teasing – one look at Yuri's stormcloud face was enough to say it was a bad idea. 

But Yuri recognized that groan when JJ sprawled out onto the other bed, long legs and strong arms tangling themselves into blankets and pillows. That heavy sigh of exhausted muscles strained far past their limits, the ache of bruises and weary bones finally having the chance to rest – cradled in nimbus softness. No one could afford to hold back during competitions – which meant a few minute performance could batter the body in ways that adrenaline-deficient practices did not. 

Yuri dared a glance at the other boy – the sparks of his anger fading slightly to see JJ's eyes closed, those new-moon lashes so long and dark against his skin. To see his lips curved into a something that was softer and real, not a satisfied smirk but a smile filled with the gentle contentment of a soft bed against a weary, clean body. 

Some of the annoyance began to untangle from his chest, threads slipping from his fingers. Fading.

It was harder to stay angry with a kitten in his lap. Snuggling Rajah made it easier to forget the way he had wondered at the taste of JJ's skin, the way his eyes had trailed across those shoulders as if trying to mesmerize every inch. Made it easier to ignore the way he was aware of JJ's presence laying just feet away, or how his gaze kept wandering towards the other boy, in spite of himself.

“Hey, Leroy?” Yuri found himself asking, as if he hadn't been furious at JJ only moments before. As if his tongue had a mind of its own, refusing to be governed by cool control. 

“Mmmmm?” came the reply, a mumble spoken more into a pillow than into the air itself. He didn't sound annoyed at the interruption – peeling open one blue eye to stare at the pale-haired boy.

“What were you going to ask for?” Yuri let his fingers trail over soft fluff, frowning slightly at the note of curiosity that bled into his words in spite of his best intentions. “If you had won the bet?”

There was a moment of silence, and the Russian youth found himself looking across the room through a fringe of golden lashes. Blankets rustled as JJ shifted, tired muscles rearranging themselves until he was no longer buried face-first into a pillow, but rolled over onto his side. Elbow against sheets, dark-head cradled by a sturdy palm. 

“Tomorrow's women's skating and couples, right? Which means we get a day off. So I wanted to take you exploring Montreal,” JJ told him quietly. There was a heart-beat of a pause, and he couldn't help but add teasingly, “A sober adventure, this time.”

Yuri's head snapped up, staring at the other boy with naked surprise scrawled across his face.

JJ was watching him carefully, studying him, reading the thoughts and emotions on his face as if they held something important. As if he could decipher forgotten languages hidden in emerald eyes, as if Yuri's lips held secrets to cities lost beneath the seas.

Yuri felt his eyebrows scrunch together, trying to unravel the intentions behind such a normal idea. As if they had not spent years being enemies. “Why?” 

JJ lifted his shoulders in a shrug, rolling back so he was nestled amongst pillows once more. “Thought it might have been fun,” he said, and there was a note of wistfulness winding through his voice.

Yuri was spared a response by another knock at the door, insistent pounding that immediately made him jump to his feet. He couldn't help but glower, already imagining a protective Viktor or a nosy Phichit on the other side, coming to check up on him after a quick word from the curious Christophe.

Of course, it was only a teenage boy, boredom blanking his face and pizza boxes filling his arms. But that boredom quickly morphed into pleased surprise as Yuri took the boxes and practically threw a handful of bills into his chest.

This part almost felt normal. Cardboard lids thrown back to reveal discs of dough and stringy cheese, grease against fingertips and tomato sauce against lips. JJ threw on the television – some action movie in French that Yuri couldn't understand but at least it was background noise. Rajah was trying to nose his way into the pizza boxes, and the blond boy kept trying to eat his pizza while protecting it from a curious kitten, and JJ was laughing as Yuri kept cursing helplessly. And somehow, they were both laughing now, and there was a warm feeling radiating from behind his ribcage, sunlight kissing his marrow.

It felt like having a friend, Yuri thought when the pizza was devoured, boys sprawled out on their beds. It was a strange thought to have – one he had never imagined would cross his mind while in the presence of the young man who usually inspired loathing and anger. But in spite of the frustration and confusion and irritation... This was almost nice.

There was a ghost of a smile on his face as he looked down at the orange kitten in his lap. Rajah was eagerly licking his fingers, trying to scrape away all last traces of the meal he had been denied, and the boy himself was beginning to feel a comfortable drowsiness curling through his veins – body tired, belly full, content with his performance and the feline snuggles.

“He likes me better than you,” Yuri told JJ smugly, leaning down to rub his nose into the soft fluff of fur.

It hadn't been meant as a challenge, yet it still caused one dark brow to raise into an arch, blue eyes blooming with amusement.

“Viens ici, mon chaton,” JJ murmured, wiggling his fingers gently towards Rajah, who cocked his head and immediately scrambled to his velvet feet - suddenly seeming much more like a puppy than an playful kitten.

Yuri's brows furrowed into a pout as Rajah abandoned him, practically throwing himself from the bed in order to reach JJ's. Of course, he was too little to jump beside the older lad – but in a blink of an eye, the kitten had used his claws to swarm up the blankets – a tiny orange prince climbing to the top of a grey stone tower.

Yuri blinked then, only belatedly recognizing the pet name that the other boy had uttered when calling Rajah to his side. He recognized it was as one that spilled often from JJ's mouth. But then, the Canadian smooth-talker always had a collection of pretty French words to accompany his sly winks – offering them like a bouquet of blushing roses to those beauties who caught his eye along the way. He had seen it often enough over the years. But “chaton” was one he had never heard JJ say to anyone else. Only for him. But Yuri had just never cared enough to determine what it meant.

“What does chaton mean?” he asked suspiciously, frowning at the way the French word twisted from the tip of his tongue – no where close to the elegance of JJ's smooth voice. It stuttered from his mouth, harsh with a sneaking distrust.

JJ gave him a sideways glance, a smirk curving his lips like the lashes curved across twilight eyes. As if he had been waiting for this moment for a long time, his voice thick with smug laughter. “Chaton means kitten,” he told Yuri.

Yuri threw a pillow directly into JJ's face, growling. His cheeks were flushing red again, kissed by furious fire, a sunburn under the skin. “I'm not a fucking kitten,” he snarled.

But JJ wasn't intimidated by the scowl, laughing at the pillow. His voice sunk down into the familiar silky tone, warm and teasing to match the velvet amusement that sparkled like stars in the blue depths of his gaze. 

“Of course,” he agreed, voice sobered into a faux-seriousness that didn't match the wicked glitter in his eyes. “Much too fierce to be a kitten. How about 'tigre'?”

Yuri threw another pillow. 

JJ ducked easily. “Petit rayon de soleil?” was the next suggestion. Yuri didn't even need to know what that meant. All he had to do was glance at that wide, smirking smile and he knew that the other boy was teasing him, perhaps taunting him. 

He was out of pillows. So he settled with a glare. “I swear to God, Leroy. If you don't cut it out, I'm gonna keep Rajah and make you sleep in the hallway.” 

The dark-haired boy tilted his head slightly, staring into those burnt-sage fires, vivid green gaze so furious. “You want me to be serious?” he asked.

“Please,” Yuri said, rolling his eyes. He didn't have the energy to deal with JJ's teasing tonight. 

The amusement faded into something sober, the way sunlight faded into dusk, warm sunfire golds blending into candied cherries and vibrant violets. And JJ's voice gentled, the teasing tone sinking into a low note that felt like fingertips tracing across his spine. 

“Tu es le plus beau garçon que j'ai jamais vu,” came the murmur, and the way JJ's voice cradled those syllables made Yuri flush again.

Yuri saw it then, flickering in JJ's eyes. Desire. The same hunger he recognized from earlier, when he had been standing upon the ice with an ocean of applause roaring in his ears. It wasn't his imagination. It was right there. Cobalt coals smoldering beneath strands of black hair, a flash of naked hunger like lightning, fierce and brilliant and blinding.

Yuri's body was betraying him. Like it had when JJ had emerged from the shower, draped in nothing more than a towel and temptation, causing his heart to pound louder, a flutter inside of his belly that felt like a cloud of moths with pale-dusted wings.

“What does that mean?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. Trying to pretend that he didn't care to know the answer at all.

But JJ refused to tell him what his words meant, head bowing to hide his soft smile like a secret, attention shifting to the kitten in his lap. When he raised his eyes again, the lightning fire of lust was gone – smoothed beneath that typical smirk, an overgrown feline who looked upon the world with nothing but amusement.

After a few minutes, though, he did take pity on the pouting Russian and decided to throw a pillow back. Yuri curled around it, glaring at the floor. Frustrated with this entire situation, with the confusion that seemed overwhelming whenever JJ was around. 

This night had been a mistake, he decided. Every moment of it.

And he closed his eyes tightly, wishing he could either fast-forward or rewind and end this awkward present. But in spite of his sulky silence, his rival on the other bed refused to allow the quiet to spread, breaking it with idle interest. 

“What's your family like?” JJ's voice was nonchalant, woven with a faint note of curiosity. “I don't think I've ever heard you talk about them.”

The sudden change of topic was ice against his senses, cold and uncomfortable.

Yuri froze, spine stiffening in place as if each bone was threaded with steel. But he forced each muscle to relax, trying to uncurl before the other boy could notice that the topic was not a pleasant one. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, whispers of dread curling across his body. 

He forced his shoulders to raise into a shrug. His voice was careful when he spoke, refusing to even look in JJ's direction. “Not much to tell,” he said at last, glad that his words emerged normal enough.

The other boy knit his brows together. “C'mon,” he coaxed. “Everyone's got family.”

Spoken like someone who had been blessed from birth, Yuri thought scornfully. As silence stretched, he could see the curiosity blooming within those dark, indigo eyes. Unfurling and reaching up towards the sky – so he wasn't surprised when JJ leaned forward, pressing the question. 

“What about your parents?” the young man asked untactfully. “What are they like?”

Yuri shifted his gaze from JJ, instead focusing on the orange kitten at the edge of JJ's bed. He wanted to reach out and scoop him up, wanted to pull the furry monster into his lap. The boy picked up the string of his hoodie, dangling it in an attempt to lure Rajah away from JJ and onto his bed. But the prospect of the engrossing game wasn't enough to capture the kitten's interest.

“My father passed away when I was little,” Yuri said finally, offering another shrug. As if that would somehow end the conversation. As if it was nothing more important to his history than a skinned knee – as if it hadn't been one of the constellations that had shaped his very existence. Inconsequential. 

“What happened?” JJ asked with a gentle frown.

The other boy shook his head, corn-silk hair brushing fingers against his cheeks. “A car accident,” he said. Black ice and twisted metal and nothing would ever be the same again, entire worlds torn asunder in a blink of an eye.

“Yuri.. I'm so sorry.” JJ's voice was stricken, but Yuri didn't dare look at him. He knew there would be pity shadowing those pretty eyes – and that was something he didn't think he could handle. Pity would provoke fire and anger and he was too tired for that.

“Don't be sorry,” Yuri said, his voice deadpan and bleached of all emotion, a grinning skull of ivory bone left in the desert sands. “It happened a long time ago. I don't even remember him anymore.”

Except in dreams sometimes – remembering the feeling of strong hands wrapped around his while he took tentative steps across the ice. A brown leather jacket that smelled like stale cigarette smoke and cologne and safety. Laughter as vast as a mountain, strong enough to break through any storm. Sitting on top of broad shoulders and feeling as if he could see the world.

JJ's voice was truly hesitant now. “What about your mother?”

His heart twisted inside of his chest, that never ending ache he could feel stretching behind his ribs. The vague sense of guilt that fluttered against his mind, pale powdered moths of bitterness. _She died too,_ Yuri wanted to say. _She loved him too much. He was her world and when it shattered into pieces, she did too. The car crashed killed him and love killed her._

Yuri ducked his head, shoulders hunching inwards. Letting his hair fall over his face, a curtain of silk to hide his eyes. Why was he even allowing this conversation to go on? Why was he even entertaining these questions, allowing JJ to glimpse anything other than spitfire and strength? Why did JJ even care?

“She got sick,” he said finally, voice soft and almost hushed. “When he died. Because he died, I think. She tried to take care of me but she couldn't even take care of herself. My grandfather took us both in. He raised me, really. Worked himself to the bone to take care of us, to put food on the table and buy me skating lessons, like he had bought my father when he was little.”

JJ was listening, he could feel it. As if every word that slipped from his lips was a piece of treasure to be cherished – dark-hearted garnets and brilliant rubies and wild sapphires and emeralds bright enough to illuminate the world. It didn't matter that words were painful, the story sad – the gems might have been dull and cloudy, with cracks feathering through their refracting hearts, yet JJ listened as if each shadowed word was pristine. 

But JJ was reading more upon his face than the words that spilled from his lips – seeing behind those green-glass eyes that had gone so cold. Whatever he glimpsed there caused his tall form to rise from his bed with an armful of kitten.

And suddenly, Yuri's mattress was sinking beneath JJ's weight, and he was only a foot away – twelve inches or twelve thousand miles. The Russian boy wanted to sigh with weariness. Digging up the past wasn't a game that he enjoyed playing. But he knew that JJ wouldn't be content until he had dragged every shadow out into the middle of the hotel room, darkness so vivid and ugly against stark white walls.

“What happened to them?” JJ asked softly, already guessing that the answer would not be a happy one. 

It was better to just get it over with, Yuri knew. The sooner curiosity was sated, the sooner the conversation would shift. And old wounds could settle back into scars again. 

“My deda – my grandfather... He died two years ago. We didn't find out he had cancer until it was too late to help.” The words themselves were so hard to say, bullets notched with agony that he still cradled inside of his chest. The diamond strength of his voice faltered for a brief moment, the frozen syllables cracking.

It had been one of the most successful seasons of Yuri's career. How else could he pray except with blades on his feet? Offering up each victory to his grandfather, because seeing the beauty of those medals seemed to give the failing man strength, his blurred eyes shining with pride. 

But he could barely remember the weight of the medals dangling from around his neck. Instead, Yuri remembered the sterile scent of hospitals mixed with decay, the way his grandfather's body had been stained yellow with jaundice – even his eyes, the way his legs had swelled up to double their size, swollen sacks of meat and water unable to support weight. He remembered the way the air had rattled in his grandfather's chest on that last, terrible night. When he had to say good-bye to the one person in this world who had truly loved him more than anything else.

He shook his head, plundering through the painful territory with eyes focused straight ahead. Soldier heart. Determined not to examine the memories of hopelessness and anguish. “My mother still lives in Moscow.”

Yuri could feel surprise stiffening JJ's body beside him, but he didn't look at the other boy either. He just focused his gaze upon the kitten in his lap, currently wrapping velveted claws around his palm, nibbling gently on the ball of his thumb. 

“I got her a house where she can stay without being poked by doctors all the time. And she's got a nurse who lives with her. Makes sure she eats, gets dressed, makes sure she doesn't wander out alone and get lost. Some days, she's almost fine. Some days... She's just confused.“ There was that guilt again. Burning, branding itself against his ribs in runes of shame. “She doesn't have many visitors since my grandfather died... But I think she's happy enough.” 

Happy to be surrounded by her icons, dozens of those melancholy-painted eyes to gaze down upon her, to listen to her endless litany of tear-tinged prayers. Her prayer rope. Her incense. Happy enough until the dark days came – because they always came again, faster and faster as the years crawled by. Until her spine broke beneath the weight of her grief and she couldn't crawl out of bed, and all she could do was stare back into the past that was tattooed against the empty cage of her chest.

Yuri felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, warm and strong, radiating with gentle heat. The touch made him finally raise his eyes to look into JJ's face. His muscles tightened, expecting to see pity lurking in those depths – wild blue pouring over steel. 

There was sadness there, sorrow curling like smoke to stain his gaze. As if the other boy's heart was breaking for his. As if Yuri's loss was a physical pain beneath his own ribs. It wasn't a secret that JJ's family was important to him – beloved of his parents, adored by his siblings. Had he ever known a day in his life in which he wasn't surrounded by their love, their affection, their constant support? 

_I don't need your sadness,_ Yuri wanted to tell him. _I am so much stronger than you think._

But he didn't have a chance. Because suddenly, JJ was hugging him, as if there were too many words that he couldn't say, as if it was the only thing that he could offer that would mean anything. He was hugging Yuri tight – and Yuri found himself letting it happen. Found himself pulled inside of strong arms, his cheek against JJ's shoulder, his face buried against the other boy's neck. Burning eyes closed tightly against tears that would not grow and would not fall – his heart was too barren for such a useless waste of salt.

But he could feel his body tuck itself against JJ's, as if his sinews and muscles and bones craved that closeness. The feeling of one arm curled around his body, the other palm spread across the nape of his neck, fingers weaving themselves into his hair. Yuri's fists twisted themselves into the fabric of JJ's t-shirt, and warmth was curling through the broken pieces of his sadness, smoothing away their jagged edges.

“She must have loved your dad very much,” JJ said quietly against silver-gold hair. His voice was colored with pain, with sorrow, but it lacked the shroud of condescension that felt like pity.

Yuri felt his lips curled into a silent snarl, in spite of himself. “She shouldn't have,” he said, his muffled voice flaring into something soft but fierce, burning with a sudden passion. “She should have known better. Love is a car crash no one walks away from.”

JJ shook his head, and his voice was so very gentle, even sadder than it had been before. “No, Yuri. Love is flying amongst the stars. Seeing the universe for what it truly is. Being truly free.”

Yuri could feel something ugly stirring inside him, something poisonous that took his breath away, and he shoved himself away from JJ – breaking away from his arms as violently as a gunshot through a dark night. 

“Yeah?” he scoffed with a bitter laugh, an abrasive sound of scorn. “That's rich coming from you, Casanova. How many car crashes have you left in your wake?” Sarcasm turned acidic against his tongue.

Now that he was free of JJ's touch, he realized his body was curling up upon itself, knees drawing up to his chest, shoulders hunching and arms wrapping around his pants. A blossom withered back into a seed, petals shriveled and fallen, aching for the dark safety of the earth. Or the dangerous warmth of another hug from the dark-haired man beside him.

He knew he was being cruel, but he couldn't help it. Even the stricken pang in JJ's eyes gave his heart a dark glimmer of satisfaction. 

Yuri glared back, arms wrapped around his knees. In the years they had known each other... .How many lovers had he seen JJ with? Laughing with his arm curled around their shoulders, an endless sea of faces that would share his bed for a night, a weekend, a week. Their faces blurred together, but how many times had he recognized the same glitter shining in their eyes as they looked upon the Canadian King? A gaze of awe and wonder and lust. 

It made his stomach twist upon itself, the ugly feeling growing worse, spreading fingers like ivy across his bones. 

JJ looked abashed, reaching up to run strong fingers over his nape in an almost sheepish gesture. But his voice tilted into something serious, dark brows furrowing gently as he searched for words, as if it truly mattered that Yuri understood. 

“I might've had more than my fair share of companions,” he admitted. “But I don't go around breaking hearts. I don't like hurting people... I like... I just like having fun. So I've always tried to make sure my partners are just looking for a good time too. It doesn't always work... But... ” There was a long pause, silence stretching out for heartbeats. “I don't lead anyone on, Yuri.”

Yuri rolled his eyes, scowling as he looked away from the other boy with his serious expression. “I don't care about what happens in your bed, Leroy,” he said, trying to ignore the way the words tasted like a lie upon his tongue.

Suddenly, he was done. Done with this stupid conversation, done with the teasing, done with the confusion, done with the constant flush staining his cheeks. 

“I'm tired now,” he announced, though the irritation that gleamed in his jade-green gaze gave truth to the lie. How could one feel tired when resentment was burning through the veins? But if he had to continue this conversation for one more second, there would be a scream tearing itself from his throat.

JJ recognized the dismissal for what it was, and although his eyes were still saturated with a dozen questions and a thousand unspoken words... He still rose to his feet, hands falling limply to his side.

But as Yuri turned off the light, as he heard the other mattress shift beneath JJ's weight, blankets rustling against honeyed-skin – he tried to banish the memory of those arms curled around him. The steady warmth of JJ's hands, fingers brushing against his nape.

Dangerous thoughts.

He buried deeper into his own blankets, and sleep had never felt so far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Petit rayon de soleil" should approximately mean "little ray of sunshine". And “Tu es le plus beau garçon que j'ai jamais vu" shooooould mean "You're the most beautiful boy I've ever seen". I don't speak a single word of French, so this could be drastically wrong though! ^_^
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos and Tumblr messages and love - I am so grateful you guys have stuck around for this little adventure! And now that the season is finished, you can probably expect a lot more updates because I need to get my YOI fix somehow!


	8. Shadows Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst and comfort, because I'm a sucker for both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years, lovely ones! Here's something to read tomorrow while if you're stuck in bed from too much celebrating! Be safe if you're celebrating already, hope you had a marvelous time for those of you whose celebrations are complete! If you don't celebrate your New Year at this time, then I hope your day is still magical and amazing! ^_^

Yuri wasn't even sure what woke him up, what pulled him from the comforting darkness of the dreamlands. One moment, there were dreams teasing tendrils around his consciousness, safe and warm. And the next, his sage green eyes were fluttering open while reality brushed cold fingers over his mind. 

Trying to understand why his stomach felt twisted with unease, why there was dread kissing against his ribs. His heart pounding as his gaze swept through the hotel room. All was dark, except for a sliver of silvered light that fell through a crack in the curtains. Bleaching all color from the world, leaving everything painted in cool silvers and bruised blues and midnight blacks.

Yuri looked around. The shadows were still. The world was asleep. On the pillow beside his, there was a familiar orange ball of fur, tucked into a ball. Even Rajah had finally given up mischief for sleep. One heart beat passed. Then another. Silence.

What had woken him up?

He heard the noise again. 

“C'est... ma faute...” It was a mumble of syllables scorching the throat, a moan of pain, a broken note of apology. There was silence again. And then there was a strange strangled sound, almost like a sob being ripped straight from the chest. A gasp sharp enough to cut through dreams as a body twisted against a tangle of hotel sheets.

“Leroy,” Yuri said sharply, eyes sweeping towards the other bed.

He kicked off his blankets and rose to his feet, tousled blond hair falling over his face as he stared at the source of the noise. It was JJ, of course. Obviously caught in the midst of a dream that dug taloned fingers into his mind. Blankets coiled like ivory serpents around his limbs, dark hair twisting across the pillow while his head jerked from side to side. Brows furrowed so deeply, they looked like wounds carved into his forehead. Teeth gritting so tight, Yuri could hear the squeaking grind of pearls being ground into dust. 

“Hey, Leroy,” he tried again, bending down towards the body that was thrashing before him. Yuri's mouth felt dry, tongue blooming into cotton, and his heart picked up its speed. As if it could taste the shadows that swarmed around the sleeping boy, sense the darkness that lingered deeper than the night. Cradled against the bone.

There was another one of those strangled moaning noises, and Yuri couldn't listen to it anymore, couldn't stand to JJ caught in some nightmare world, trapped just beyond reach. 

“Wake up!” Yuri practically shouted as his fingers dug into JJ's shoulders, shaking him roughly.

There was a wordless cry as JJ's eyes snapped open, and the young man jolted upright, kicking away the blankets that tangled around him, linen vines attempting to shackle him to the bed. Yuri had to jump backwards to narrowly avoid his chin being struck by a dark-haired skull.

“What the fuck, Leroy?” Yuri snapped. But almost immediately, the snarky words died upon his tongue, like snowflake dissolving into the steam of hotsprings – forgotten almost before they were fully born.

Because he had never seen JJ look at him with such fear.

The blue of his eyes had bloomed into a granite grey in the darkness – but even that steel was being swallowed by giant black pupils . He could see the whites of JJ's eyes all the way around, the wild panic of an animal caught in a trap, wicked metal teeth cutting through flesh – trying to escape and finding only pain and confusion. Sweat glistened across his brow, his dark hair sticking to his temples the way his t-shirt clung to the dampness of his skin.

The skin under Yuri's hand was clammy cold – and he could feel the light tremors radiating through JJ's body, those muscles wound as tight as silvered springs. An earthquake of fear to shake across the canyons of his ribs, the valley of his collarbone, the mountains of his shoulders. Threatening to shatter through flesh and bone. Large gasping breaths ripped through his chest, sucking in oxygen as if he had been pulled from an ocean, a drowning man returned to life.

It wasn't just fear – Yuri could see that in a second. This was terror. 

“Hey,” Yuri found himself saying instead. His voice gentled itself, his words slow and soft, offering them to the other man like a lifeline. “It's okay. Whatever it was... It was just a dream, JJ.”

The name felt unfamiliar upon his lips, twinned syllables that tasted sweet yet so foreign against his tongue. Lacking the spitfire of his usual scorn, drained of annoyance and fury. It was the soft voice he used when trying to befriend a stranger cat, feral and wild and beautiful amongst the St. Petersburg streets. 

His voice broke through that terrified haze, and JJ's wild eyes somehow found his, and he saw those pupils, those black-poppy hearts, focus slightly through the disorientation. Black diamonds glittering in the dark, nightmared clouds still clinging tendrils through the other's mind.

JJ's hand reached out, grasping Yuri's tightly, and the younger man had to hide a wince as strong fingers threatened to crush his knuckles and ground them into dust. He shifted his hand, weaving their fingers together – at least his palm was now taking the brunt of the fierce grip. Palm against palm, lifelines pressed together, the map of creases that could glimpse the future unfolding. Calloused fingertips brushing against the soft tender skin of the back of the hand – except those fingertips were curled tightly, almost trembling in their strength.

“What were you dreaming of?” Yuri asked quietly. He couldn't imagine anything in the world that could have shaken JJ so badly. 

There was a line carved between JJ's furrowed brow, lips pressed together tightly. There was a tension vibrating through his body, chiseled from marble, cold and stiff. He was still cloaked in the shadows of his dream, lost beneath their call – the murmurs from an underworld weaving through his mind.

“Falling.” JJ's voice was barely more than a whisper, hoarse and cracked at the edges. “I'm always falling.”

Yuri gave JJ's hand a tentative squeeze, not sure exactly what to say. What words could he offer? He had never heard the other boy's voice burnt and cracked, the smooth velvet crumpled. He had never seen fear in those eyes, let alone accompanied by despair and dismay. 

It should have given him a perverse thrill to his greatest nemesis completely unraveled. To catch a glimpse of the cracks beneath the gilded exterior, the spot of rust on immaculate silver. Perfection untangled. Not a hint of smugness, not a whisper of arrogance. 

Just fear and anxiety, JJ's skin peeled away to reveal something human beneath. Raw. Vulnerable. Not a King but a man who wasn't untouchable after all. 

It should have made Yuri happy to see, a smirk dancing on his lips. But it didn't. There was a strange sadness lingering in the air, kissing his cheekbones, sinking into his lungs. It... It hurt to see JJ in pain, to see those blue eyes shrouded in fear. He could feel it, a hollowness in his stomach. 

He recognized it.

Just as he recognized the way that JJ's jawline tightened beneath clenched teeth, the firm set of eyebrows furrowing as he drew in one slow, shuddering breath. A cage being woven from steel and lies, strong enough to encase the fear and lock it away, deep down within where it couldn't escape. Padlocked and imprisoned, where all it could do was batter the bones – far from anyone's eyes.

“I'm fine, Yuri,” JJ said quietly, closing his eyes tightly. “Go back to sleep.”

He wasn't surprised when the other boy gave his hand one gentle squeeze, and then untangled their fingers, sliding his hand away. Trying to shroud a moment of weakness beneath a gauze of normalcy. Pretending nothing was wrong as he settled back amidst his blankets and pillows once more.

Yuri rolled his eyes. Struggling to ignore the way his hand suddenly felt cold and hollow. Empty palms, fingers collapsing in upon themselves and falling into a fist. 

“You're such a fucking liar,” he said, trying as hard as he could to keep annoyance from bleeding into his words. “Shut up. And move over. I'm practically falling off the bed.” 

There was a long moment of silence before JJ shifted over a few inches. Yuri settled down beside him, his back propped up against the headboard while he sat up straight, a sentinel standing guard through the long night. His empty hand fell upon the edge of the pillow that cradled JJ's dark head, searching for the proper words. But comfort wasn't his strong suit. 

“Do you have that dream a lot?” Yuri asked, wincing as he heard the awkwardness that stained those clumsy words.

Wasn't that supposed to help? People liked talking about the things that twisted inside of their heads, inside of their chests – lancing the poison of the wounds? Or was that some stupid nonsense he had picked up from listening to Mila chatter? 

There was a long silence, a stretched note vibrating through the air before the other boy finally answered. 

“I've had it for years,” JJ admitted, his voice still shaky. There was a sharp chuckle, bitter like ash to accompany the wry twist of words. Such an unfamiliar sound from such a familiar figure. “Before almost every competition, actually. The better I do in the season... The more I seem to fall in my dreams.”

“I used to have nightmares a lot,” Yuri found himself saying. His voice hushed, and yet in the darkness, the whisper felt like a scream tearing at his throat. “I'm always running. And looking for something. Or someone. I can never remember. But I'm always breaking through doorways and every room is emptier than the last. So I run faster. But I can never seem to run fast enough to find what I am looking for.”

It sounded so foolish when it came from his lips. How could he explain the way his heart pounded so hard in those dreams? The way his fists would be shredded, blood rivering down his wrists like roots from the knuckles that he tore open when he tried to tear through wooden doors, the constant yearning that twined with fear with every empty room, the never-ending sense of loss growing stronger with every moment. Until he just started screaming from the overwhelming despair of it all – and only then could he force himself awake.

But JJ didn't laugh. He just listened, quiet. Accepting the statement as if it was something that mattered, as if the words were woven from silver and gold, instead of an awkward whisper through the quiet hotel room. Yuri meant it as more than a confession, and he hoped JJ would see that. 

Offering a taste of his own night-terrors was the surly boy's way of offering empathy. The only way he could think of to show JJ that he wouldn't laugh – that he wasn't laughing now. That he understood the panic, the power of dreams that could impact the psyche. That he was listening too. 

When JJ spoke, his voice was just as hushed as Yuri's had been. Hesitant through the shadows, as if opening his chest and pouring out confessions was an unfamiliar struggle. As if he was used to cradling his fears and doubts in his palms like gems kept hidden from the eyes of the world. Secrets buried beneath the gauze of laughter and smiles.

“I've spent entire lifetimes falling, it feels,” JJ confessed in a murmur. “I've fallen from pyramids. From castle towers. I've fallen from a thousand cliffs. Over and over and over again. Trying to catch myself on something – anything. And it never works... But... The falling isn't even the worst part. I think I could handle that. It's the voices that get me.”

Yuri tilted his head, staring down at the shock of black hair against the white pillow, seeing the sharp angle of JJ's jawline, tight beneath clenched teeth. He could hear the heavy swallow of the other boy's throat, as if he was trying to garner courage – or trying to gulp back words threatening to spill. 

“I hear my family telling me how disappointed they are. That I have failed them. That I will always fail them.” There was no sign of smiling warmth in JJ's voice. Just hesitant softness, still shrouded in the echoes of his nightmare. “And sometimes, you're there too.”

There was a strange feeling burning against Yuri's bones, cold and heavy. He knew what those emotions were like too. Shoulders curved beneath the weight of expectation, carrying a world of responsibilities upon his back. Desperate to never give his family cause to suffer. Needing to bring them happiness. Aching for success, just to see their eyes glimmer with fierce pride. Frightened at the realization that no matter how hard he tried, it might not be enough.

It was such a bizarre sensation, relating to the Canadian, that JJ's last words didn't even penetrate his mind for a long moment. And then Yuri blinked. “Wait – what? Me?”

He felt strong shoulders raise into a soft shrug beside him. “All of you. The others. Laughing. Watching me fall.”

“They wouldn't laugh at you,” Yuri told him softly, cursing the way the awkward lie tripped against his teeth. “They're your friends.”

JJ's voice was quiet when he spoke again. Soft and resigned, yet still painted with the faintest hue of sadness. “Nah,” he said. “Not really. I mean... Yuuri maybe. He's everyone's friend. But that's about it.”

There it was again. The flutter of cold flames, burning cold and freezing hot. Guilt. That was what was branding his insides, carving across his bones. And a whisper of shame. Because he knew that JJ was right. In the past three years, JJ had been more accepted into the community of skaters, largely thanks to to Yuuri's empathetic heart. But there was a difference between tolerance and friendship. 

But the shame burnt within because Yuri knew: a large part of it was because of him. JJ was his enemy. His nemesis. With his smug smile and arrogant wink – his endless teasing and the ease with which he stole victories... He knew how to ignite Yuri's temper so easily. Which meant that Yuri took every opportunity he could to try to undermine the other boy. Laughing at him – to his face and behind his back. Snickering over every stumble. Cursing every strength. Inventing an entire dictionary of insults to be used instead of the Canadian's name. Never wanting JJ invited anywhere he was going to be. 

Yet JJ had always seemed so confident. So unruffled. Not a single word could penetrate the shield of confidence, the rougish smirk that never faltered. He was impervious to every harsh word. He never felt lonely. He was the self-proclaimed King, sitting upon his throne of indifference while amusement sparkled in his eyes. Always laughing.

Yet he could remember the way JJ's fingers had tightened against his, the dark wash of sadness coloring his words, those brows still furrowed. JJ wasn't bulletproof. He could hide his feelings better than almost anyone Yuri had every met – but the Russian could see the hurt that had slipped through the cracks in the armor. He could see a hint of loneliness that existed beneath the charming smiles. 

It was a strange realization, an uncomfortable one. This wasn't the JJ he had always known. 

But that was before JJ had helped him home from the restaurant when alcohol had sent his world spiraling, a strong arm curled around his waist while the rain sprinkled starlight into their hair. That was before he had fallen upon the ice, red-rubies blooming against milky palms – and JJ had bandaged the bloody wounds with such concentration. That was before JJ had goaded him to success, such deliberate manipulation, now that he looked back upon it. That was before a quiet night in the hotel room, laughing while licking pizza sauce from their fingers and cuddling a kitten with such a mischievous spirit and bright amber eyes. It was before JJ had pulled him into a hug, as if the strength of his arms could piece together shards of sadness.

“I'm sorry,” Yuri found himself saying. Two simple words with harsh edges – apologies always tasted so foreign upon his tongue. Even ones spoken so quietly, threatening to unravel and disappear into the faint moonlight that spilled into the hotel room. 

JJ shifted against his pillow, turning his face towards more towards the other boy, and Yuri imagined he could feel surprise sparking through the air. But that surprise didn't matter – it was a mere blur in the background. Because when the Canadian man had shifted, his dark hair spilled across the white pillow – and brushed against Yuri's fingers.

It was as if his hand didn't even belong to him anymore. Yuri watched as his fingers twitched of their own volition, remembering of the warmth of the hand that had cradled his only moments before. Seeking that warmth again, yet discovering silk instead. It was as if he were watching a dream. His own hand twisting just enough to allow the obsidian strands to fall against his palms. Such softness. Like touching midnight itself – smooth silk that slipped through his fingers.

He couldn't breathe for a moment. His touch was tentative, hesitant. Yet Yuri could feel the stillness that spilled through JJ's body – limbs transfixed in this moment as if he had been carved from marble itself, immortalized in the present forever. As if he were afraid to move, afraid to breathe. Caught in a spell.

Yuri's heart was beating so fast, a tiny winged hummingbird thrumming inside of his chest. Half-expecting JJ to pull away from the gentle touch, fingers stroking across those black ink strands. But he felt the rigid stillness begin to fade from the other boy's body, muscles uncoiling into calmer relaxation.

JJ wasn't going to pull away, Yuri realized. His touch grew less tentative, combing through the tendrils of hair like his grandfather had done when he was younger – like his mother had done before that. Such a soft, simple gesture that had always brought such comfort to his young heart.

“You don't have to be sorry,” JJ told him softly, and Yuri could hear something else buried behind those words. Fears unraveling themselves beneath the soothing touch, shadows dissolving on starlight. Darkness beginning to fade beneath calm. 

Silence reigned again, long moments weaving themselves together in almost perfect stillness. It was as if the entire world was asleep, had held its breath and came to a halt. Leaving only two boys in a hotel room, outside the reaches of time itself. Shadows still lingered on the edges of their existence, clinging like cobwebs in the corners of the room, yet for the moment, they had been defeated. The fears that kissed the mind of one boy, and the fears that curled through the heart of the other... Pushed aside. Forgotten for a brief, shining moment.

Dawn would return with her golden eyes, and fears would return and shields would rise once more. Reality would settle itself again tomorrow. But that was worlds away. This was courage and stillness woven together, leaving only a strange enchanted moment filled with silence and fingers curling through strands of soft, dark hair. 

Yuri was the one who finally broke the hushed room. “I was thinking...” he began, trying to keep his voice nonchalant, casual. “If you still wanted to show me around Montreal tomorrow... Maybe it wouldn't be the _worst_ idea ever.”

He was surprised to feel JJ's body stiffen beside his, tranquility fading as the pearl of his bones hardened into diamond once more. A boy of crystal strength instead of warm muscles and twisted sinews. His voice sounded just as tense, stiff with the echo of wounded pride. 

“Are you just offering because I had a bad dream?” he asked.

The still calmness was broken.

Yuri couldn't help the scowl that twisted upon his lips. His fingers halted their tentative brushing, and he had to resist the childish urge to give the dark hair a sharp tug. Niceness didn't always come easy to the boy who preferred to wrap himself in frustration and salt. Surely, JJ knew that.

“Don't be an idiot, JJ,” he growled finally. “Have you ever seen me do anything out of pity?”

The other boy was quiet for a long moment, but when he spoke, the tension in his voice had dissolved into something warmer. Pleased, but stained with surprise. 

“You called me JJ....” he said, tilting his head back to look at the golden boy beside him. “... I don't think I've ever heard you call me that.”

The scowl on Yuri's lips deepened, and he was grateful that the darkness hid the blush crawling across his cheeks. He glowered. “That's your name, isn't it?” 

As if it wasn't the first night his mouth had offered those syllables as a gift. As if their taste upon his tongue wasn't dangerously sweet, candied cherries soaked in vodka to burst against the senses. As if he wasn't dismayed to discover he wanted to taste their sound again.

He could almost hear the echoes of a smile tilting the edges of JJ's mouth. Not quite a grin – but something that could grow into one. “I like it,” the dark-haired boy said as he curled closer, offering more raven-wing hair for Yuri's porcelain fingers to run through.

Yuri curled his fingers through the longer strands, fingertips idly brushing over the velvet of the undercut. JJ was warm beside him, the moonlight was soothing, and each stroke of his fingers echoed the drowsy glow spreading through his veins. He couldn't smother the yawn that uncurled from his lips.

He felt JJ shift against the pillow, head tilting back once more to watch him. The night had darkened those blue eyes into charcoal, but he could feel them studying his face. 

“I'm sorry I'm keeping you awake,” JJ told him softly, and there was no disguising the glimmer of guilt in his eyes. But his voice was more sheepish than apologetic – he was returning to himself again. Slowly but surely.

Yuri resisted the urge to yawn again, trying to shake away the drowsiness sinking through his mind. But a sudden thought bloomed from amidst the languid sleepiness and his golden brows furrowed gently.

“Whenever I woke up with a nightmare, my grandfather would sing to me until I fell asleep again. He kept watch to make sure the bad dreams were gone for good.”

There was amusement in JJ's voice now. “Are you going to sing to me too, Yuri?” he asked, teasing, and the other boy had never felt so glad to hear that warmth like liquid sunshine curled through every word. 

“Not if you don't shut up,” Yuri growled as he curled an errant strand of obsidian around his index finger. He was gratified, though. It was the first time since they had awoken that JJ had truly sounded like himself.

He heard JJ snort into the pillow, and he found himself smiling in the darkness, absurdly pleased at the sound of muffled laughter. He knew the grin was curling into his voice, warming the syllables even as he tried to sound stern. 

“But if you ever tell anyone I did this, I will literally kill you. And I will deny it to my last breath. But you won't know that because you'll be dead.” 

He felt JJ shake his head in confirmation. “Our secret,” he promised, and the soft laughter was a far cry from the terror that had filled him early.

Yuri paused for a long moment, already regretting his impulsiveness in the face of JJ's apology. But there was no going back. He cleared his throat, glad that the other boy couldn't see the warmth that was beginning to stain his cheeks. Blushes faded to silver in the moonlight. 

“ _Spi, mladenets moy prekrasnyy, bayushki-bayu,_ ” he sang softly. It was more of a murmur than a proper song, though in the shadowed darkness, the words were strong enough. 

His voice was soft and gentled, some of the notes falling flat – too course to be a proper singer. But he could feel JJ's body relax beside him – tense muscles unwinding, sinews loosening as breathing slowed. He was listening – the smaller boy could feel it. 

“ _Tikho smotrit mesyats yasnyy, bayushki-bayu,_ ” Yuri murmured, fingers brushing across the dark silk of JJ's hair. He felt the other boy curl closer to the gentle touch, forehead pressed against the warmth of Yuri's thigh. No longer trembling with the echoes of his nightmare. No longer tense with sadness. Or stiff with pretend normalcy. Just... True calmness beneath the words of a traditional song.

It was funny how easily the words came back to him. They were threaded back through long years, submerged deep within his history like a forgotten love letter buried in the dust of a curio cabinet. Yet the words came so quickly to the forefront of his mind when called. Yuri could still hear his grandfather's voice – the rough gravel of his baritone that echoed the rough palms and calloused fingertips that curled over his blond hair. A man who had spent his life toiling for others, who had drunk deep from the fountains of grief and loss.. Yet his voice had had the power to banish the darkness and send the nightmares on their way.

“ _Stanu skazyvat' ya skazki, pesenku spoyu,_ ” Yuri sang, voice somewhere between a croon and a whisper. 

When he had been a child, his grandfather had been the one to banish them – armed with a song and gentle fingers through hair, until sleep had lost its terror. A knight with calloused hands and silver threaded through the dark of his beard.

Yet now, it was Yuri himself who offered a song like a sword and a gentle touch as a shield to battle the nightmares. To send the shadows on their way. But never could he have imagined that it would have been JJ that he was comforting. Protecting. Ushering away to a sleep unburdened by darkness.

Tomorrow, life would return to normal. Tomorrow, he would become the Faerie Prince once more, his heart woven from embers of anger to hide tendrils of fear. Tomorrow, he would wear his scowls and his glares as casually as he wore his leather jacket, slinging curses and sarcasm as if they were smiles. Tomorrow, the world would shift back into its proper place.

But tonight, there was only a determined knight sitting beside a shadowed king. And the magic of a soft song spiraling through the moonlight, silvered notes to keep the darkness at bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "C'est ma faute" should mean "It's all my fault".
> 
> 2\. "Spi, mladenets moy prekrasnyy, bayushki-bayu, Tikho smotrit mesyats yasnyy, bayushki-bayu, Stanu skazyvat' ya skazki, pesenku spoyu" should mean, "Sleep, my beautiful good boy, Quietly the moon is looking into your cradle. I will tell you fairy tales and sing you little songs." It's from a beautiful Russian lullaby called "Cossack Lullaby". The song is lovely and the lyrics are a bit sad! You can listen to a cool version of it on Youtube by Natalia Faustova. Highly recommend!


	9. Dazed and Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JJ and Yuri take a day to explore Montreal!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh. I am so sorry that this took so long to post. And I apologize for its length! I know there are parts that I could have cut to make it easier, but I really didn't want to skimp on their first date-thing, so the chapter is ginormous! I am sorry! But I hope you guys make it through anyways! Eeeeek!

The skies were a bright cerulean blue, painted with cotton clouds that floated lazily across the heavens. Sunshine poured over the world, chasing away the winter-grey skies and the storm-cloud days that Yuri had seen over Montreal so far. The breeze still held a hint of bitter chill, but the honeyed sun was warm and bright, sinking into the skin. It felt like Spring had arrived, a little earlier than it should have, but still eager to begin exploring the city.

It was like St. Petersburg, Yuri thought to himself. Even though the air was still tinged with cold, it felt as if the entire city was pouring out from their prisons of steel and glass, leaving being their work and homes in order to savor a few stolen hours of beautiful golden light. After a long winter, no one was going to waste the chance to grab their first true taste of spring. To feel sunshine against their cheeks and let the sun warm the ice that had settled into their marrow.

It was afternoon before they reached their destination – after first having to criss-cross Montreal in order to deliver a tiny orange kitten back to a certain apartment. Then they headed beneath the streets of the city to step into what JJ called the Underground City. An intriguing name for the network of buildings and tunnels and metro stations that ran beneath Montreal, where they snagged a rail car that sent them hurtling beneath the earth on steel tracks like veins through the city's heart.

The sunlight was bright when they emerged from the metro station once more, and Yuri found himself squinting as he stared around them, trying to catch his bearings. Trying to recognize the secret adventure that JJ had been so excited about revealing. 

The slender youth had forsaken the bright Team Russia jacket that he normally wore during event season, preferring his less obtrusive dark leather jacket. Black jeans clung to his narrow legs, their knees torn open in huge holes that he had patched with scraps of cheetah-print fabric. A studded belt was slung over his slender hips. Beneath his leather jacket, he wore a plain black zip-up – the hood drawn upwards to obscure his face. Under the hood, the long strands of his golden hair had been tied back into a ragged, messy bun. He wore a pair of gloves against the cool spring chill, though their fingers had been cut off with a pair of dull scissors to give him freedom of movement. A pair of sunglasses were perched on the tip of his nose, mirrored lenses that gave him a sense of anonymous security. 

Beside him, JJ looked clean-cut and polished as always. Sunglasses were perched on the top of his head, yet that onyx hair still fell in an artful tumble over his temples. He wasn't wearing his usual red, that burst of fire that always captured the eye – but had chosen a simple black jacket that hid his tattooed arms, yet did nothing to disguise the strength of his body. 

Still, the smile on his lips could capture anyone's eye. A smile that he cast at Yuri, for the Russian boy alone. 

“Welcome to Old Montreal,” JJ said grandly, sweeping one large palm before them. There was no disguising the excitement that blurred his voice. As if he truly wanted Yuri to see the heart of the city that he loved.

Their first stop was the Notre-Dame Basilica, a traditional fragment of the Old Montreal skyline. 

The twinned towers rose up towards the sky as if they ached to run their fingers through the clouds. Stretching towards the heavens, dark and austere compared to the bright colors of the cathedrals he had grown up with. Yuri was used to the Holy places that were azure against vivid white, pink against ivory, bright-sky blue against creamy stone. Everything gilded in gold, the curved cupolas like rainbowed tulip bulbs peeking from the tops of towers.

Compared to those palaced temples – this cathedral looked severe. Its stone was pale charcoal and frozen ash. A castle with its crowned spires, a fortress for the spiritual. There could have been princesses trapped at the top of those towers, foreheads pressed against glass while they suffered silently trapped in their beautiful prison. It could have been the home of a wizard with curses upon his lips. Or a king with a penchant for madness. It was hard to believe that this a place to worship the divine. Yet... Yet there was something striking about this castle, something fierce and strong about its dark, gothic beauty. 

“Want to go in and see?” JJ asked, watching him. His strong hands were stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, a smile tilting at his lips. He looked proud of the beauty before them, as if he had built the church from his own hands. As if his own palms had slapped down the mortar, as if his fingers had cradled each piece of stone.

But Yuri shook his head. He was content to look at the cathedral from the outside, to admire the square with its stone-carved fountain and the army of tourists that snapped pictures of the imposing building. Inside, he knew, it would be even more beautiful. But he wasn't tempted to step within. 

He didn't want to see the green of his mother's eyes reflected in the sunlight that poured through the stained glass. Those translucent depths that could shine so vibrantly one moment, and fall dull the next. Yuri did not want to see the wide expanse of the ocean blue ceiling rising above his head, held up with ribs of gold – stronger than the fragile ribs that had collapsed beneath his mother's broken heart. He did not want to see the glorious altar like a castle of its own, the gilded heart of a city's prayers – did not want to see the soul of his mother shining in the hearts of the women who crossed themselves before it.

Churches had lost their wonder and magic for him long ago.

But he could admire its beauty from the outside, the dark castle majesty contained within the ashen carved stone. He didn't have long to admire it, though, for it was outside of the cathedral that they were interrupted for the first time. 

Yuri should have expected it – the World Championships drew close to a hundred thousand attendees every year. Many of them tourists from all over the world, eager to catch a glimpse of their favorite athletes, the men and women who had turned their bodies into tools of art. It was only natural that the tourist-fans would be exploring Montreal too. And JJ was a local feature in this city – the sort who stood out and drew the eye even without trying. He had his own club of adoring, zealous fans – just as Yuri did. 

He should have expected it, yet Yuri still flinched when he heard the first whispering cry, “It's JJ! Look, Maman, it's really him!”

It came from the throat of a young girl with thick, gold plaits that tumbled down her back, glossy curls kept tame by a handful of barrettes. She couldn't have been more than eight or nine years old, considerably younger than most of the adoring fans he was used to seeing. But she beamed at JJ as if he was a star that she had plucked from the heavens to make a wish upon.

JJ didn't try to run away. Didn't try to avoid the child's eyes. He met her gaze and offered a smile, extending it somehow to include the girl's entire family. Within a moment, he was wading into their midst and the father had his phone lifted high, snapping photo after photo of the Canadian boy with every member of their small family.

Yuri hesitated, wavered, frowning to himself. He wasn't sure whether to stand still and watch, laughing to himself. Wasn't sure whether he should walk away. Pretend to study the fountain or take pictures of the church, just so he didn't draw attention to himself. But he didn't decide quickly enough.

The little girl spotted the dark-clad punk boy, whose sunglasses weren't enough of a disguise against her far-reaching gaze, her tawny lashes narrowing thoughtfully. “Is that.... It's Yuri Plit- Pilesky?” 

He wasn't surprised that her tongue stumbled and faltered over the unfamiliar Russian syllables, complicated enough for such a young skating fan. At least it was better than “The Other Yuri”, he consoled himself. Even as his shoulders hunched slightly, and a sound that was half-sigh and half curse battered its way from his chest. 

Busted.

JJ was motioning for him to join them, laughter blooming like blue sparks in his eyes. Yuri shifted awkwardly, resisting the urge to curse again as he slunk over to join them. The little girl was looking up at him expectantly, her brown eyes luminous and waiting. What was he supposed to say? He wasn't good at talking with kids. He wasn't good at talking with adults either. People in general just made him uncomfortable. Yet the girl and her family and even JJ were watching him.

“I like your... hair things?” he said finally, motioning to the rainbowed plastic barrettes that bloomed from her honey-gold hair – shaped into flower blossoms covered in glitter. 

Immediately, the girl reached up into her hair, pulling out a purple barrette that sparkled in her palm. She held it out solemnly, and Yuri found himself looking at JJ helplessly. The Canadian boy was trying to bite back a smirk of laughter – trying, and failing miserably. 

Finally, Yuri reached out and took the little glittery barrette from her smaller hand, pushing the purple plastic flower into his own tawny strands of hair. He tilted his head slightly to show her, and that serious expression upon her face disappeared – buried beneath a sudden brilliant grin. The girl was beaming.

There were more photos – this time with both Yuri and JJ flanking each member of the family. He forced a grimacing smile upon his lips, a grin that looked so brittle and fake next to JJ's wide, cheerful smirk. But he was never comfortable in these situations. The discomfort was only heightened by the knowledge that these pictures were no doubt about to be uploaded on social media for the world to see. And already, he could imagine the curious questions from his fellow skaters at the sight of the two rivals on an adventure together. 

It felt like an eternity, but finally, the pictures were complete, and Yuri was grateful that they were able to slip away without further incident. He could feel a scowl on his lips, that tangle of discomfort tightening in his belly as they continued their walk. Beside him, JJ was grinning to himself.

“You really enjoy that kind of stuff, don't you?” Yuri found himself asking, a question that tasted more like a statement. He couldn't understand it. Pictures and autographs were the bane of his career – he would rather have a dozen practice sessions with Lilia than a meet-and-greet with his fans. 

He was used to seeing JJ preen in front of the cameras like a peacock, flashing that smirk and throwing his signature Js. A sign of pure pride and vanity, Yuri had always dismissed that behavior before. Yet another reason to dislike the Canadian boy. But walking beside the other, he couldn't catch a glimpse of that arrogance right now. 

JJ threw him a sheepish grin, reaching up to sweep a hand through his dark hair. It was a gesture that Yuri was beginning to recognize – JJ often played with his hair when he was feeling embarrassed or uncomfortable.

“It makes them happy,” the taller boy explained after a long moment, broad shoulders raising up into a shrug. “I'm lucky to have gotten so much support, y'know? I wouldn't have made it this far without so many people cheering me on. This kind of stuff... It really makes them happy. So it's the least I can do. If it makes them smile, then it makes me happy too.”

Yuri felt his lips settle into a frown as he digested those words, offering silence in return. It was a strange ideology that he couldn't quite wrap his mind around. He attributed his own success to hard work, talent, the support of his grandfather and his coaches. He was glad that his skating could have an impact on the hearts of others, yet he did not credit them with his success. He did not feel as if he owed anything to anyone.

But JJ meant his words – Yuri could see the sincerity burnishing those cobalt eyes, kindled with sapphire flames. The other boy truly believed he wouldn't have made it this far without them, and he truly seemed happy to offer them photos and smiles in return for their cheers, even if it interrupted his own adventures. 

It was a strange thought to ponder as their exploration continued, weaving their way slowly through the cobbled streets. But this entire week had been filled with strange thoughts and even stranger events.

Yuri found himself giving JJ sidelong glances, tawny lashes lowered as he snuck peeks at the other boy. It was strange. The Canadian's lips were curved into his usual grin, white teeth flashing against soft lips – and those lupine eyes sparked fever bright with mirth. JJ looked his usual self. Happy. Confident as they strode down narrow streets. The sunlight cast a shine upon the strands of jet black silk, and Yuri felt a strange pang inside of his chest as he remembered how it felt to weave his fingers though that thick mop of hair. Remembering the way words had tumbled from JJ's lips the night before, their hoarse, ragged sound. Remembering the glitter of fear and the harsh sadness blooming from loneliness within the other boy's eyes. The warmth of JJ's forehead pressed against his thigh, breathing softening as a gentle touch brushed away the cobwebbed shadows.

There was no sign of such sadness now. It was as if the night before had not happened, just a dream dissolved the moment that dawn had kissed the sky. 

Yet sometimes, Yuri thought he felt the warmth of that cerulean gaze studying him. Sometimes, he caught a glimpse of something thoughtful behind slightly furrowed brows. Sometimes, he thought he saw JJ's firm lips part, unspoken words dangling off of the edge of the tongue – only to close again, syllables swallowed back into the chest.

It was odd how a few days could shift one's perception, could transform someone familiar into such a stranger. JJ had always seemed like a book with a garish cover – beautiful but empty, lacking even a moment of temptation. Yuri hadn't needed to open the cover and run fingers over inked pages to determine that it was a story he didn't want to read. It seemed so clear from the cover alone.

So it was such a strange feeling to flip through the pages and catch a glimpse of something unexpected. Instead of crude words and a stunted story, discovering a beautiful illustration within its heart. A kaleidoscope of inked lines twining and twirling to create a myriad of beauty, beckoning for further exploration. A simple, unanticipated discovery could change everything. Gilded pages suddenly seeming to hold a mysterious allure, where once they had inspired apathy. 

JJ made him curious now, and that was a strange realization that Yuri couldn't quite understand. 

At least he didn't have to sit back and analyze these strange thoughts. Old Montreal was a small place, yet it offered an entire world of diversions. Everywhere he looked, there were shops of every sort. Boutiques that offered higher end clothing, galleries where canvases burst from the walls in rainbowed chaos – paintings blooming beside stark black-and-white photographs that gleamed next to large metallic sculptures. Tourist traps where maple leaves decorated every surface, and every t-shirt seemed to be made from the same scarlet fabric. Cafes and bars and restaurants were scattered amongst the shops, and delicious scents curled through the air to tickle temptingly at the nose.

They were in a corner of the city where everything was a world of stone. The streets were cobbled, rounded rectangles woven together in narrowed paths. The buildings rose high on either side of the narrowed streets, red brick and grey stone facades that provided such graceful guises for the shops and hotels and cafes. It was a city that time had forgotten, lacking the stark steel and glass of modern designs. Or rather, it was the perfect blend of past and present. Occasionally, Yuri would hear the steady clip-clop of hooves against cobbled streets, and amidst the cars that slowly drove past, he would catch a glimpse of horses pulling painted carriages, beautiful beasts that helped to emphasize this strange sensation of being caught between worlds and times.

JJ led them across the cobbled streets, his pace lazy and slow. He seemed to be content with no specific target, happy to point out popular destinations as they criss-crossed the labyrinth of the small quarter. Weaving through side-streets and down main streets and back again, guided by their feet and every intriguing building that caught Yuri's eyes.

“That's the Marché Bonsecours,” JJ beamed proudly as he pointed to the vast building. “It used to hold the Parliament. Then it became a market place. Now it's shops and restaurants where anyone can visit.”

It could have been a royal palace fit for the Tsars. An endless stretch of windows that seemed to span blocks. The columns of its portico stood straight and tall, alabaster-shrouded sentinels to watch every passerby. The silver-capped dome sparkled beneath the sunlight. 

They changed directions and passed chapels. Endless side streets of restaurants and shops. And the city streets seemed to grow even older, the breeze tangling through the flags that jutted out from the faces of the buildings like an arch of swords for passerbys to walk beneath.

JJ confirmed that suspicion. “Rue Saint Paul,” he said smoothly. “The oldest street in the entire city.”

It was a fascinating one, and Yuri's curiosity was sparked over and over again. Pulling JJ into shops to look at old fashioned candy, bits of pulled taffy resting besides bars of toffee. An old book store that smelled of ink and must and childhood daydreams long forgotten. A shop of music, silvered cd discs and dark black vinyl that Yuri wanted to trace his fingers against, as if he could touch the notes themselves and let them sink into the ribbons of his blood stream. 

JJ followed behind without a word of complaint, wearing that same cheerful grin. Eyes soft as he watched the other boy's fascination grow, even if it meant enduring walking into almost every shop, if only for a moment – just to sate curiosity on what might be within. It was a city filled with the potential for a thousand different treasures, and Yuri couldn't walk away without seeing every corner of it. 

Every so often, they were interruped again. Another fan would spot JJ's distinctive dark hair, the shorn velvet beneath strands of black silk, the eyes that sparkled with mirth, that wide, smirking grin. And so would begin another round of hugs and photographs and autographs, while Yuri tried to blend into the background. Once, it had been one of his Angels that had stopped them, and this time, it was JJ who was laughing as he took pictures of Yuri and his admirer, while the blond-haired boy struggled to ignore the curious glances of tourists who couldn't understand the attention being heaped upon the unfamiliar youth.

It was a relief to continue their exploration along the twisted maze of cobbled roads. To leave behind fans with their wishes for luck in the competition, to leave behind those expectations tangled with rivalries, and simply be two young men exploring a beautiful city.

They wandered through the narrowed streets, but Yuri was surprised when the thin avenues suddenly opened into a wide, public space. They were in a square of some sort, flanked by small shops peeking out from stoned walls and carved facades. At the other side of the square, he could see a tall column capped with a statue – but his gaze swept away from it almost instantly. What did he care for statues when there was so much to look at? 

Spring had not yet arrived to the small trees scattered throughout the square – their branches were bare against the bright blue sky. But sunshine spilled against stone, and hundreds of people were here to enjoy every moment of the early warmth. And they were a sight indeed, spread across the open space with all of the unique distinctiveness that Yuri adored seeing. The families who had decided to spread a blanket over the stone ground, impromptu picnics thrown together to enjoy this first true spring afternoon. Young teenagers with their fingers curled around plastic shopping bags, laughing as they carried away their own treasures discovered amidst the collection of shops. The parade of tourists with their wide grins and musical languages and the cameras that never seemed to fall far from the tips of their fingers. 

His curiosity was piqued when he saw a crowd beginning to form in the middle of the square, a loose semi-circle of men and women gathering together to bear witness. And then he heard the sound of music – a strum of a guitar weaving through bodies, curling like a finger to beckon them forth. Sparking curiosity that could not be ignored.

Yuri's slender body slipped easily into the growing circle, pleased to find a vantage point behind a pair of shorter girls, who were giggling and gossiping in rapid fire French, though an occasional word of English struck a chord of understanding against his mind. But they didn't matter. He could feel JJ's warmth behind him, that steady presence just inches away that his body seemed to recognize of its own volition. 

He said nothing to the other boy. Just watched the musician seated before them.

The girl sat upon a woven blanket spread over the cold palms of stone, cradling an acoustic guitar in her lap. Her fingers danced over silver strings, strumming gently as she sang. Her hair was shorn close to her scalp, chestnut brown strands that turned made her look more pixie than girl. Her neck was long and graceful as it bent over the guitar, red lips parted to spill forth syllables shrouded in a smile.

One song ended, bright and cheerful notes fading into silence. And then she began to sing again. A different song. Slow. Mournful. Vaguely familiar, though he couldn't quite place it. 

Yuri couldn't understand the words that tumbled from her lips, the French syllables curving over her tongue, fluid and elegant. But he didn't need to understand her words to hear the longing in her voice, the yearning tangled with a deep sadness that seemed to blossom from her throat.

How could anyone bear to tear open their chest in front of an audience? Unlock their ribcage and let the bars swing open, let their heart be on display for the world to see? Witness every wound that had torn it asunder, see the ugly black thread stitching it whole once more – the scars etched so deep. The hidden bits of beauty, sparkling like sunlight reflecting off of glass.

There was a raw edge to her voice, pain scorching through the words as if they were being torn from her chest. There was a heart-broken longing that turned each note rich and deep, trembling gently against her tongue. Her voice was red wine and candlelight, pearls painted with tears that were spilling from her lips. Sultry and heart-wrenching.

“ _We made these memories for ourselves,_ ” JJ's voice was soft against his ear, a hushed whisper that made his stomach flutter. It took a moment to realize that he was translating the French lyrics so Yuri could understand. “ _Where our eyes are never closed, our hearts are never broken. Time's forever frozen still._ ” 

JJ's warm breath ran like a slow finger along the curve of his ear, and the whisper of his voice seemed to melt into Yuri's skin. He found himself leaning back slightly. And then his spine was brushing against JJ's chest, and he felt the other boy shift – a subtle repositioning of sinews and bone and the distance between them disappeared completely. 

Could JJ feel the way his heart was pounding through the blades of his shoulders? 

“ _So you can keep me inside the pocket of your ripped jeans,_ ” JJ murmured, head bent, and Yuri felt the faint brush of his hair against his own – midnight mingling with silvered-gold. “ _Holding me close, til our eyes meet. You won't ever be alone.”_

Why did his body start trembling at the lyrics being whispered into his ears? His muscles tensing and a sweet ache blooming inside of his chest amidst the waves of confusion. Why was it harder to remember how to breathe, a dizzy sensation that blurred the edges of his vision? A fever under his skin, diamond heat sparking through his veins. 

He knew that JJ could feel the trembling through his slender body like willow branches shivering in the breeze. And then he felt JJ's body shift again, one hand raising forward to press light fingers against Yuri's waist. One strong palm pressing against his side, fingers stretched to gently graze across his hip. A touch meant to comfort, to reassure. 

The trembling began to fade, its intensity dissolving beneath the warmth of the boy behind him, solid and strong, and Yuri was grateful. The hand on his hip kept him grounded, roots spreading from the soles of his feet and digging into the earth. The shivers disappeared completely. Leaving only a sweet warmth in their wake.

The girl kept singing, fingers dancing across the strings, music swirling from her and through her and around her. Whose photograph did she keep tucked away inside of her heart, Yuri wondered. How did she lose them, to sing with such a mournful thread of loss? Did they walk away, leaving her heart shattered upon the cement in a thousand fractured pieces? Or did their eyes close and their souls cease to be and did they dissolve into the universe itself? Leaving her alone with their memory tattooed against her blood.

“ _And if you hurt me, that's okay, baby. Because only words bleed. Inside these pages, you just hold me. And I won't ever let you go._ ”

JJ's voice was a low murmur against his heart, a spell woven across his senses. And Yuri was aware that he was leaning back firmly against the other boy's body, and JJ's cheekbone was resting gently against his hair, and his hand was still folded across Yuri's hip... Bodies tucked together, sharing warmth and the vibration of twinned heart-beats beating too hard, too fast.

And it felt... nice. Comforting. He closed his eyes to savor the sensation, so unfamiliar, so hypnotic. A daydream that had woven over his senses, pulling him under, wrapping him in a velvet glow. Stilling his mind, whispering away all of the shadows, leaving only a song and the sturdy warmth of JJ pressed against him.

Yuri wasn't prepared when the song ended – one last mournful note lingering in the cool air before it was broken with a thunder of applause and whistles that felt like shrieks against the mind. 

The spell unraveled in a heartbeat, the enchantment broken by the cold ice of reality. His eyes snapped open. And his heart wrenched behind his ribcage, dismay and confusion twining through his veins.

What had just happened?

Yuri wrenched away from JJ as the singer placed her guitar in a sticker-clad case – it was the signal for the crowd to disperse. But he refused to even look at the other boy, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie as he began to walk. There was no destination – long legs striding towards the edge of the square and the shops that circled them. 

If only the scowl on his lips could hide the way his heart was trying to kick down the walls of his ribcage. Yuri's blush felt tattooed against his skin, a permanent flush of warmth that revealed his emotions like a story for everyone to read. Fear boomeranging amongst his bones, cursing the soft way his body had savored the feeling of JJ's pulse against his spine, how five fingers and a strong palm could seed steadiness through a tilting world. Warmth was an illusion, soft fur shrouded around shattered shards of glass. Warmth meant weakness, spelling out danger and doom behind its captivating glow. Yet he had sunk into it without thinking. And in public, no less.

He could feel JJ's eyes upon him, clearly reading the distress woven across the blond boy's slender body, and he heard a soft intake of breath – the Canadian boy was about to speak.

“JJ!”

By now, the cacophony of excitement had become something familiar to the Russian lad. The thrilled joy that fluttered from the throats of fans like clouds of butterflies when they caught a glimpse of their idol. And for the first time all day, Yuri was almost grateful for their interruption. So perfectly timed, even though he hadn't the patience to deal with more photos and smiles. Not when his bones felt as if they were unraveling, and the faint whispers of anxiety were singing through his veins.

“You're on your own,” he muttered to JJ. Knowing that the other boy was too polite to ignore the excited pleas from his supporters. He couldn't turn away their smiles, their joy. But Yuri could. 

He ignored the soft exclamation of protest from JJ's lips, merely flashed a grimace that was meant to be a smirk before darting through the doorway of the nearest shop. Just in time, too. One peek out the doorway showed JJ being swarmed by a handful of young women.

At least the other's misfortune meant that he would have a few brief moments to gain his composure again. He would waste a few minutes in the store, and when the coast was clear, he'd rejoin JJ once more. 

Yuri took a deep breath, letting the air trickle out slowly from between parted lips. Then he turned his back, letting his eyes scan across his temporary haven, and was pleased to discover that it looked to be an interesting sanctuary, at least. There were knick-knacks of all types. Little glass globes the size of a fist, translucent until one peered until their hearts where galaxies bloomed in a riot of color. There were wind-chimes made of metal and shards of rainbowed glass, sending prism sparks across the walls in arcs of fractaled light. 

An older woman stood behind the counter, an unimpressed frown tilting at her lips. Her hair was a cap of curls, steel grey beginning to fade into silver, and her neck seemed weighed down with a treasure chest of beaded necklaces. Obviously, Yuri, with his torn jeans and his leather jacket, wasn't the usual clientele that she dealt with. But she wisely said nothing – just watched as he wandered through the shop.

There was a display of jewelry that caught his eye, bits of gold and silver and glittering fragments of gemstones, and he found himself peering over it curiously, trying to ignore the warmth of the woman's gaze between his shoulder blades. Yuri kept his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, but knew it wouldn't be any reassurance. It was a pretty common occurrence, no matter what country he was in. Most store-owners were wary to see someone like him walk through their doors. Beneath their polite masks, he could always see their worry that he was a petty thief painted in a leather jacket. 

There were the usual charms one saw at stores like this. Medallions with words carved into the cool metal, silvered butterflies with unfurled wings, dolphins leaping from invisible waters, the faces of the Saints to offer protection. Sun rays and crescent moons, thick hearts and ribbons of flowers. A treasure trove of talismans to offer strength and comfort and beauty to anyone with eyes to recognize them. 

But one medallion caught the boy's eye – a single silvered disc etched with a familiar striped cat, fierce and powerful and courageous. A silvered tiger with a heart of strength, prowling across the charm as if it was prepared for battle. Beautiful and impressive. Calling to him.

There was no hesitation. He needed it, of course. 

Yuri's emerald eyes flickered. Beside it, there was another medallion. So similar and yet vastly different. Instead of a tiger with warpaint stripes, there was another large feline with a wild mane tumbling down powerful shoulders. A lion, of course. Another proclaimed king, confident and graceful. Mighty and strong, bearing himself with a regal elegance and easy strength that could chase away shadows as if he held sunshine within those large, fierce paws. 

His fingers hovered over that second necklace, but before Yuri could convince himself that it was a foolish idea, he grabbed them both and brought them to the counter to be rung up.

When French words dripped quickly from the older woman's lips, the Russian boy shook his head helplessly. “English?” he said instead, all too aware of the way his accent framed those two simple syllables. 

The woman offered him a frown, but dutifully repeated what he owed in a language he could understand, and he thrust a handful of bills upon the counter. Change was spilled back into his palms, and he stuffed it all into the pockets of his jeans. The small lion necklace was shoved into his leather jacket, where his fingers could brush against the crinkle of the plastic bag that protected it.

Yuri didn't care about the money – his greedy eyes savored his new treasure happily. Fingers flicked against the metal clasp, and he quickly draped the tiger necklace over his neck. Feeling the weight of the medallianed charm settle against his breast-bone. 

“How does it look?” he asked the woman behind the counter, fingers reaching up to brush against the silvered-tiger against his dark shirt. He was so pleased that he even offered her a soft smile, his eyes glowing with an emerald brilliance.

The rigid tension faded from her face, surprise gentling her features with soft fingers. 

“Beautiful,” she assured him, and suddenly, she didn't seem like a wary duchess with ice in her veins, eyeing him with reservation. His smile had brought a faint brush of pink to her wrinkled cheeks, and her softened gaze grew warmer.

“Merci,” Yuri replied, glad that he could say at least that simple word in French, and his gentle smile widened into a satisfied grin, and he retreated from the counter back towards the doorway of the little, rainbowed shop. 

He peered out the window, spying to see if the coast was clear and it was safe to emerge. JJ was still posing for pictures with his JJ Girls, and instead of a group photo, they had moved on to individual ones. And now one of JJ's arms was curled around the waist of a lovely girl who looked to be his own age, his other hand curved into one of those signature J's, a gesture echoed by the girl beside him. Both of them beaming into the camera-phone held high by one of the other fans.

Yuri's smile faded. His fingers reached up, brushing idly against the glass pane of the window. Studying the girl who was grinning at JJ, wondering why there was a strange twist inside of his chest. Her skin was teak, a beautiful dusky bronze that looked so lovely beside JJ's tanned arm. Her hair was a riot of curls, a beautiful mane of dark ringlets that brushed against her cheekbones. Her wool coat was a rich cranberry with silver buttons that fell down to her thighs – matching the bright red smile that she flashed at JJ. 

Exquisite and elegant, the kind of girl that most families dreamed their sons would bring home. Beautiful, like all of the other girls he had seen on JJ's arms at the dozens of banquets over the years. Some with tawny manes of gold, others with shining raven locks – all with long legs and entrancing curves shrouded by their stylish dresses, lovely sirens to capture the eye. As beautiful as the men that JJ kept company with – those young Adonises with broad shoulders and sharp cheekbones and hooded eyes. Gods and goddesses temporarily taking the form of young mortals.

His stomach twisted so sharply, it was hard to breathe for one moment. Because suddenly, Yuri was all too aware of his own appearance. The faded jeans with their shredded, torn knees, rattied and worn. The spikes on his hoodie, the leather bracelet wrapped around his wrists. Even his Chucks were well-loved, scrapped and scuffed. 

What was he? Just another punk kid. Too skinny, too slender. Too rough around the edges, always angry and snarling and pushing everyone away before they could leave. He could sling curses in a half dozen languages, he could throw punches against skin heads and toss back enough vodka to drown most humans. He was an angel on the ice, but there weren't enough medals in the world that could transform him into the sort of lover that JJ cavorted with. 

They were gardens of roses, sunflowers, exotic lilies with prettied petals unfurling beneath the sun. Yuri was more like a briar patch, a thicket of brambles and gorse and twisted twigs, a handful of weedy flowers blooming amongst a world of thorns. Why would JJ give up beautiful gardens for a chance to stumble around wild bracken?

What game was JJ playing? 

The more he thought about it... The less sense it made. Confusion reigned as Yuri remembered the touch of those steady fingers pressed against his body, the strong planes of JJ's chest against his spine, the whisper of warmth as hot breath flickered against his ear. He couldn't deny the hunger in the other boy's eyes, not after so many glimpses. But he still couldn't understand it. Was it just the chance for something different? A brief moment of rebellious lust, a taste of something new before returning back to the preferred menu once curiosity was sated?

For a moment, Yuri hated that girl with her sweet smile and her elegant beauty. For a moment, he hated JJ with his pretty eyes and that wide grin and those hands that had could soothe his flesh or stir his blood. For a moment, he hated himself and his surly soul and the aching confusion that whispered through his veins and the shame of his own inadequacy that curled across his skin.

It was all so fucking stupid. All of it. He didn't care what JJ thought of him. He didn't care what JJ liked in his lovers. None of it mattered. 

Yuri felt his features freeze into a scowl, reaching up to draw his hood up over his head, obscuring his face in a veil of shadow. Then he slipped out the door, shoulders hunched and refusing to even look towards the Canadian man and his fans. He kept walking.

But behind him, he could hear the rapid-fire French from familiar lips, and the sound of shoes slapping against brick as JJ jogged up. He had seen Yuri leave his shelter, had actually put an end to his impromptu meet-and-greet session just to catch up with him. Something the slender boy hadn't seen before, though he wasn't in the mood to appreciate such a gesture.

JJ's eyes focused upon his face, reading the wrinkle carved between furrowed brows, the lips that were twisted and pulled into a scowl, the beryl-green eyes that wouldn't even look in his direction. Scowls and sneers were familiar friends to Yuri's face – yet this was different. This came with hunched shoulders and twisted fists and a jawline tightened beneath clenched teeth. This was something more than fleeting annoyance. Something harsher than the distress that had bloomed after the song in the square.

The Canadian could sense that something had shifted. And JJ's bright smile faded into something puzzled, confusion etched with concern and woven into a serious frown. 

“What's wrong?” he asked quietly, his own dark brows furrowing.

“Nothing's wrong,” Yuri lied, hating the awkward taste of bitterness against his tongue, the sharp edges roughening his voice. The way that ice dripped from his words – their very coldness cradling a confession in their depths. “I just need to get away from all of these people.”

He could feel JJ's frown, the concern so warm it felt like fingertips tracing against the sharp bones of his cheeks. But the dark-haired boy only gave a slight nod, still wearing that puzzled spark in his eyes.

“I know where to go,” JJ told him, and those long legs increased their stride, changed their course to lead away from the square with its enchanting music and treasure trove of shops and the beautiful goddess girls that made Yuri too aware of his own angry coarseness, woven from bitter salt and leather and tattered suspicion.

Silence stretched heavy and awkward between them as they walked, leaving the square behind. And then the world opened up again, stone walled buildings fading away to reveal the bright ribbon of the St. Lawrence River stretched wide before them. JJ had brought him to the river bank itself, or as close as they could get. 

It was exactly what Yuri needed. 

He turned his face towards the river, taking a deep breath. He could see the wooden piers that jutted out into the water like fingers, the boats and ships that bobbed across the rippling waves, kept in place only with thick bands of rope. Further up the river, he could see a tall building rising high beside the water;s edge – a clock tower with a shining face that beamed down upon the world. 

The wind tangled fingers through Yuri's honeyed hair, twining against the messy bun clasped at the back of his skull. Pulling out errant strands and causing them to dance against his face. He leaned against the railing, closed his eyes to savor the sound of the breeze skipping across water. The breath of wind danced over the crowns of the waves, those faint ripples stirring through the St. Lawrence. He could hear the screeches of gulls, the indignant cries of those white-painted birds as they wheeled across the evening sky. 

Yuri took another deep breath. Let the air curl against his tongue, spread through his lungs, slow his pounding heart. Letting logic begin to bloom and wash away the emotions battering against his ribs.

There was no reason to be resentful. It did not matter that he was not one of those immortal beauties that JJ favored. He did not need to try to unravel JJ's reasons. The Canadian boy dove into the world of lust and desire as if it were a feast laid before him, craving a bite of every plate offered – so it shouldn't be surprising that he might be intrigued by something new. A taste of the wrong side, a taste of thorns before returning to beautiful desserts. 

JJ was just curious. But that didn't matter to Yuri. He didn't care about the other boy's desires. It all meant less than nothing to him.

That reminder helped loosen the tension in his muscles as they stood silently beside the river where afternoon was finally fading into dusk. The spring sun had grown weary of its bright warmth and it was beginning to descend. The world was gilded – kissed by Midas to stain the blue of the skies into a tawny gold that faded into vibrant cherries. Light dazzled across the waters, brilliant sunfire that caught the eye and pained the universe in warm beauty. 

His frustrated confusion was untangling within his chest, soothed by the touch of the breeze and the song of the gulls and the exquisite perfection of the setting sun. He took another breath, released it. Savoring the calmness of this exact moment.

Yuri turned away from the water, looking over his shoulder where the sun was setting, and the entire city seemed shrouded in gold. Light struck the glass and the steel and the grey stone, and the world was covered in fire. A city of brightness, where no shadows could live. Magical. Perfect.

“It's beautiful,” he said wistfully, the words spilling forth on the wave of a sigh. He felt like himself again.

“It is,” he heard JJ agree, but when he looked over at the other boy, those blue eyes were watching him. 

A gaze that looked so dark in the sunset, eyes as deep as water in the heart of storms – indigo oceans that one could drown in. The concern in their depths had faded as Yuri's tension had drained, replaced with something soft, tinged with relief.

Golden sunlight poured over JJ, turning his skin warm with a dusky glow, darkened amber that looked so sweet to the touch. Would his skin taste of sunshine? Would it hold the lingering smokey scent of fire and flame? The setting sun cast strange auburn flickers through the dark coals of his hair. As if Apollo himself had looked down from the skies and wanted to trace fingertips across his skin, wanted to breathe him in.

Why did those thoughts keep circling back through his mind, time and time again?

Yuri looked away from JJ's beauty and those lost-ocean eyes. 

They weren't the only ones admiring the river as the sun began to fade, sinking behind the city while twilight began to stir. There were young families, mothers pushing strollers and young children bundled in jackets, yet still running with happy shrieks. A handful of older men and women jogged past, tennis shoes slapping against asphalt while sweat trickled down their temples. A middle-aged woman with long dark hair held a handful of leashes in her palm, leading a pack of tiny dogs who trotted at her ankles, content with the world. 

There were two men walking by, fingers woven together and this was what captured Yuri's attention. This was what stole his gaze. Yuri couldn't look away. Couldn't help but see the smiles on their lips, the laughter springing from their throats, the ease with which they strolled down the sidewalk. How even their strides matched perfectly, as if they were one being pulled into two bodies. As if they had done this a thousand times before. It's very casualness in the heart of the city was surprising to him.

What would that be like, he wondered. Trying to imagine him in their place, wearing confidence like a leather jacket while he walked through city streets, fingers intertwined with the hand of another man.

JJ was watching him. Eyes flickering from the two men holding hands and back to Yuri's face once more. As if he could read the thoughts that fluttered behind those green jade eyes.

“You don't see that a lot?” he asked, and curiosity warmed his words like the spring sunlight against their cheeks.

Yuri shook his head. Words dangled at the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them before they could fall. How could he explain to JJ what it was like to grow up as a strangeling in his country? Deemed different simply because of the ones who stirred their heart, deemed dangerous simply because of the gender of the people who shared their bed.

Even St. Peterburg. The most beautiful city in the entire world. Even in the city he adored, love could be dangerous. There were the boys who held their own secret desires beneath ember eyes, but that desire twisted inside of their bodies until it bloomed into poison and hatred. There were the adults who saw the love that was different from their own – and that love became something to fear. A threat. How two boys sharing one heart could be an invitation for violence, an invitation to lose their families, their jobs. Their worlds crashing down, turning to ash that trickled out from between their fingers. 

Yuri's city was more progressive than others he had visited. Yet even that wasn't enough to erase the undercurrent of disapproval. Of resentment. Where rainbowed rallies could equal a sentence behind steel bars. The videos he had seen of boys being beaten, heads shaved and tears streaked down their faces while cameras were shoved in their faces, their disgrace immortalized. Two girls walking down the street with their fingers woven together, and he had watched the old woman curse them, spitting as she passed – and saliva rolled down the cheek of the girl whose eyes shimmered with furious tears she would not allow to fall. 

It was one of the reasons why Viktor and Yuuri hadn't stayed in Russia, though they had tried. Japan had been more forgiving of their very public love for one another. A season in St. Petersburg had been more than enough for them both. 

He shook his head, his voice quiet. Sad. 

“It takes a lot of bravery to do that where I am from,” Yuri said carefully. Unwilling to say a word against his beloved home. Yet needing to explain how simple hand-holding could seem so powerful. “Most people try to keep their bedroom activities very private. People don't always... appreciate it otherwise.”

He paused for a moment, struggling to find the words to ask something much more personal than he was used to. More personal than anything he had ever imagined asking of the other boy. “You've been able to be honest without any... repercussions?” 

It was hard to get more honest than JJ. Private life didn't really apply to him. He wasn't shy about bringing his lovers and partners to events, regardless of their gender, whether they were around for a week or a day. His life was an open book, painted across social media in thousands of selfies and statuses. Unapologetic for his pleasures and his pursuit of them. He wasn't lewd about it – but nor did he feel the need to be anything except what he was.

JJ shrugged his shoulders, but his words were serious and slow, as if he was carefully choosing the sentences that he offered to the other boy. “I think I grew up pretty lucky,” he said finally. “My family doesn't care about my partners. When I was younger, I thought they might. But they just want to see me happy, no matter what that takes. My parents are my coaches, so I don't have to worry about losing them. Canada has always been progressive, so I won't lose my sponsors just because of my bedmates. Occasionally, I've run into some idiot who likes to throw around slurs as if that'll somehow make him more of a man. But that's the worst I've come across.”

There was a long moment of quietness, and Yuri felt grey-marbled eyes watching him, shrouded dark in the glow of the setting sun. They were walking again, though Yuri hadn't even been aware of that happening. Just striding idly alongside the St. Lawrence River, side by side.

“I think life is too short to live trapped in a lie,” JJ said carefully. “We get one lifetime to find happiness, y'know? We can't let the opinions of idiots strangle our chances of being happy when we can.” 

Yuri didn't know how to respond to that. Such pretty words, such admirable goals. Yet JJ had said it himself. He had been lucky. His honesty wouldn't hurt anyone. He could afford to be brave when he knew that he didn't have anything to lose.

He had had his own taste of judgment over the years in St. Petersburg, and Moscow before that. How could he explain how many fights he had been in over the years? Learning to swing fists and spit curses when insults rained down upon him, trouble ignited merely from his long, silken hair and his slender body. His androgynous features painting a bullseye between his shoulder blades – until he had proven himself to as someone who would give as good as he got – much more trouble than he was worth.

Yuri couldn't imagine twining his fingers through the hand of a male lover and walk down the streets of his home. Not without fear hammering at his heart, wondering if every narrowed gaze held the promise of danger. Not without the worry that his career might crash into pieces. 

Love was perilous in every way. He knew that truth, had carved it against his bones long ago.

He closed his eyes, letting the river-breeze air twine through his lungs, seeding calmness through his blood. There was no use following these tangled dark paths through his mind. Fearing a future that wasn't in his cards. Why spend time imagining a lover with fingers twined? That wasn't what he wanted. All he wanted – all he needed – was the ice. 

He was content, Yuri reminded himself.

Hungry and growing tired, but still content. His feet were aching now, he realized as they continued their path along the waterfront. Especially the left one. That was the one that always gave him trouble, especially after grueling performances. Hours spent combing through every nook and cranny of this corner of Montreal didn't help matters, nor did the flat converse shoes that offered little support for the feet. Even if they did look awesome.

JJ spotted the slight limp as Yuri tried to shift his stance to offer his smarting foot a hint of relief. One dark brow arched, and concern was written once more so clearly upon his face. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, lips tilting down into a frown. 

“Fine,” Yuri insisted, more of a growl than a comment, slowing his pace to ease a little of the ache. The nickname that spilled from JJ's tongue didn't help – he remembered what it meant. And it only fanned the flames of his determination to just ignore the aching pain and walk through it. 

The Canadian wasn't fooled, and he drew to a halt. When Yuri would have continued walking, he reached out with one long arm, fingers tangling softly against the arm of the Russian boy's jacket. Pulling him gently to a stop.

“Maybe we should head back?” came the next question from JJ's lips, flavored with a brief hesitation. “We've got to rest up before tomorrow. It's a big day for all of us.”

Yuri shook his head, scowling at the moment of weakness. It was a surprising realization. The discovery that he didn't want the adventure to end yet. That in spite of the moments where his heart had felt twisted with dismay... There had been more smiles than frowns. At the very least, he could say with complete honesty that it had been a day filled with interesting experiences and not a single hint of boredom. 

In truth... He had enjoyed himself more than he hadn't. Yuri liked this corner of the city. He liked the way the setting sun was now staining the sky in violet purples and dark blues, even if the approaching twilight was bleaching the warmth from the world and bringing a bright chill in its arms. He liked the way the breeze tangled itself through JJ's hair, brushing strands away from the granite gaze. He liked the smiles that painted themselves so easily upon the other's lips. 

JJ saw the shake of the head, the silent denial scrawled across Yuri's face, and another smile began to bloom upon his face. And that's when Yuri realized that the other boy didn't want the day to be over with either. Not quite yet.

“Are you hungry?” the shorter youth asked, trying to sound more nonchalant than he truly felt. “Let's find a cafe around here and grab some food. You've got to be as hungry as I am.”

It was a decent compromise, Yuri thought. He was pleased that JJ agreed, and he followed as the taller boy took up the lead once more. But those long legs kept the pace slow and gentle enough for aching feet and worn limbs. 

The coffee shop was a small haven tucked down a side street, and it was only when he stepped through the door way, did he realize how cold he had been. With dusk settling itself over the city, the chill of the air had only grown stronger. Yet the warmth of the coffee shop wrapped itself around him like a blanket, kissed his pink cheeks and sunk into his veins. He felt a sigh of satisfaction trickle out from between his lips as his eyes scanned the shop.

It was a cozy spot, small and comfortable. Along the ceiling were rows of golden lights that kept the twilight skies at bay, a dozen man-made constellations to wish upon. The walls were painted a sunset red, yet it was hard to see beneath the paintings that seemed to spread across every spare inch. Portraits in gilded frames, watercolors beneath silver and glass, landscapes rimmed in wood - hundreds of portals to other worlds, other times. There were a few shaggy couches with a rainbow of overgrown pillows, and a dozen tiny tables sprouted like mushrooms from the carpet. They were flanked by a forest of old wingback chairs – every single one different than the others. Everything seemed worn and comfortable. Warm and cozy. 

“What do you like to drink?” JJ asked, reaching up to brush an obsidian strand away from his eyes. “If you find us a seat, I'll grab coffee.” His grin offered no room for refusal.

It was a solid plan. Yuri snagged a pair of plushy wingback chairs circled around a small table, sinking into the downy softness with a happy sigh. It was only when he was sitting that he realized just how sore his aching soles were, throbbing in time to his heart-beat. When he realized just how tired his legs were from an afternoon of wandering through Montreal, only the day after a strenuous performance, and how nice it was to just... sit still. 

The air was warm against Yuri's skin, a blanket of coziness that mingled with the soft plush chair to lull him into a cozy daze. More daydream than awake, a breath-away from heavy eyes beginning to falter. Of course, it was that moment when JJ returned, somehow juggling a pair of trays that held two giant mugs of steaming coffee and a plate heaped with a variety of pastries, golden dough drizzled and glazed and vibrant with chunks of fruit.

Yuri blinked down at the cup that JJ pushed over. The barista's creativity had painted a smiling cat into the frothy white milk, smiling whiskers peering up at him. JJ was smirking across the table – it had obviously been the Canadian boy's idea, yet it was a gesture that made Yuri's stomach flutter with warmth.

He grabbed his phone, and heard JJ smother a noise that sounded remarkably like a snicker.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked impatiently, eyes locked on his mug. His brows furrowed, lips pursing into a pout of concentration as he struggled with the lighting overhead. “How can I ignore this, JJ? This is art at its finest.”

But before he could push the button that would immortalize the creamy froth-kitten, he heard a familiar noise. It was a snapshot cracking through the quietness, and he looked up to find JJ with his own phone in hand, those firm lips curved in amusement as he took a picture of the Russian boy so entranced in photographing a simple cup of coffee.

The frown deepened into a scowl. “You're deleting that right now,” Yuri said sharply. Cringing at the thought of his wind-swept hair all tangled and tousled from the wind alongside the river. The dim cafe lights casting ugly shadows against his skin – his face puckered into a glower.

“Why?” JJ had his head tilted at that rakish angle, laughing. But the laugh softened into a low murmur of reassurance. “You look beautiful, chaton.”

Those eyes like pale morning glories unfurling before the dawn. Brimming with a fondness and warmth that suddenly seemed too bright to even look at – and Yuri felt himself flush, looking away to hide the pleased glimmer that stirred in his chest – and the hint of strange discomfort that accompanied such a glow. Because why the hell did he care so much if JJ thought he was beautiful? 

There was that same sound again, the sharp snapshot – and before JJ could lean back in his chair, Yuri had snatched his phone out of his hands, plucking it easily from strong palms. Yet when he stared down at the newest picture painted upon the screen, the sight sparked surprise inside of his chest.

On the phone, the warm, dim lights above their heads caused his pale gold hair to darken to a tawny amber, and his pale cheeks carried that pink petal of a blush. Gaze downcast so that his lashes formed delicate half-moon arcs. But there was a smile dancing at the edges of his lips that was so uncharacteristic of such an angry youth. It was faint but it was gentled and soft, almost shy. 

There was something strangely tender and vulnerable about the boy he was staring at. And that realization was enough to breathe anxiety down his spine, an echo of dismay. He didn't want JJ to see that kind of softness. Not from him. How could a simple compliment have provoked that?

JJ reached over, gently tugging the phone away from surprised fingers, grinning with a wicked little smirk. As if he was silently daring Yuri to take the phone away again, to demand its deletion from the universe itself.

“Post that anywhere and I'll kill you,” came the threat from Yuri's lips, a vow that was accompanied by a green-eyed glare, twinned malachite daggers cradling a world of baleful promise.

If anything, that threat only made JJ's grin stretch wider. Clearly not intimidated by the menacing blond Russian in front of him. He reached out to break off a piece of pastry, popping the sweet dough into his mouth while a thick brow raised in amusement. 

“But your Angels would love me forever if I do,” he teased. “How can I deny them that happiness?”

When Yuri's response was a strangled sound of threatening curses, JJ laughed. But his voice sunk lower, that teasing note softening into warm reassurance once more, liquid sunlight cradling against his throat. Gentling like that blue-velvet gaze

“Kidding, Yuri. My eyes only,” he promised instead. 

The seriousness of those words was slightly mollifying, and Yuri found his curses subsiding into mere grumbles as he reached out to snag a pastry for himself. His stomach felt hollow beneath the skin, appetite whetted by the hours of exploration. Maple sugar sweetness drizzled against his tongue, and the famished boy devoured the first pastry in only a few bites.

“Tell me something about yourself,” JJ suggested, watching behind his mug of coffee while Yuri licked sticky fingers clean.

Five simple words that should have been so simple to answer, yet their suddenness made Yuri freeze in place, staring at the dark haired boy across the table. Without even realizing it, his hand reached upwards to curl around the necklace resting against his chest, as if seeking solace from the silvered tiger.

“You first,” he shot back, throwing the words like a challenge. Striving to buy a few extra moments to think, to try to reign back his discomfort and keep it from staining across his cheeks.

JJ grinned, dark hair falling over thick brows as he leaned forward across the table, hands still cradling the warm ceramic of his mug. “I'm scared of flying,” he confessed, his voice lacking all traces of embarrassment or shame. “Heights in general, actually.”

“Seriously?” Yuri blinked. He shouldn't have been surprised, remembering the night before, the nightmared shadows born from dreams of falling. Yet being a professional skater meant criss-crossing the globe from one competition to another, countless miles carried high in the skies by a small metal plane. He couldn't imagine facing such a fear, over and over and over again. 

JJ laughed at his expression, reaching out to snag another pastry from the plate before them. “Seriously,” he replied. “If I don't take some sort of medicine to calm me down or knock me out beforehand, I get a bit.. eh... grumpy.” Now, there was a bit of sheepishness to the confession, but the Canadian barreled through it. “Your turn.”

Yuri thought for a long moment, searching through memories and confessions to find one that wasn't too embarrassing or personal. It took more time than he thought it would, before he finally had something to offer up. “My first pet was a cat I found in Moscow. She was a little fluff of white fur with a dark face. Her tail was broken, but I brought her home and convinced my grandfather to let us keep her. I named her Koshka.” 

He was glad that JJ wouldn't understand the silliness of that chosen name – it was a simple Russian word for cat. Named with all of the proud logic of a child. But JJ didn't need to understand the name to recognize the adoration for a beloved pet. The dark-haired boy smiled. As if that tiny kernel of a truth truly made him happy.

Yuri took a sip of coffee, the foam tickling against his lip like a white-cloud mustache. Letting the warmth curl through his veins, waiting for JJ to respond with another fact. And that's how time passed. One memory became another, one opinion sparked more, until Yuri was relaxed back in his chair, unaware of the grin that dancing at the edges of his lips. Learning more about his rival than he had ever dreamed of.

JJ spoke of the highlights of his childhood. Maple syrup taffy dripped into fresh snow to harden, licking sugar off of sticky fingers when the syrup season arrived. Playing ice hockey on a frozen pond with his siblings – how his sister AJ could look so sweet, but she had a wicked slapshot that had once chipped a neighbor boy's tooth. How he had been told not to attempt a triple lutz when he was still too young – yet he had tried anyways. And promptly broke his wrist when he had fallen to the ice. Easter at a sugar shack, his plate filled with sausage and glazed ham and fresh bread and meat pies – everything drizzled in amber-brown syrup. Starting a band with his siblings – countless hours spent in a garage while they pretended to be rockstars trapped in the bodies of youngsters. Sitting in his room with a guitar in his lap, learning to read music better than he could ever read letters in a book, writing lyrics to terrible songs that eventually improved over the years. 

How when he was a kid, JJ had been determined to be a centre skater for an NHL team (in his daydreams, it was always the Canadiens) – already loving the thrill of the ice, yet yearning for the comradery of a team. Friends who might become bonded into family, making history with every trophy. But he had found his passion in figure skating instead. And with this discovery came another great gift – the ability to help others in need. His first charity event had been a youth-gala skate for Muscular Dystrophy Canada – and he had met a beautiful ten year old girl with chestnut brown plaits and a brilliant starshine smile and a pink princess dress that spilled over the edge of her wheelchair. The event had etched itself so deeply into his heart, that charity work had become one of his main focuses during every off season since.

Yuri found it difficult at first, to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth and unlock the box within his chest that held his stories. At first, each word felt rusted and bruised. But when JJ didn't laugh, when he responded with questions to learn more – they began to flow easier. Under the table, he felt JJ's leg move, shifting so that that his calf was pressed against Yuri's. Just a steady pressure. A constant warmth as they exchanged stories, trading each one back and forth as if they were baseball cards to be collected. 

He told JJ about his grandfather's cooking. How those strong, worn hands could create the best pirozhki in the entire world, bread so fluffy it almost melted on his tongue, biting into hearts of shredded onion and mushrooms, the kind of warmth that soothed the soul. Yuri told him about decorating eggs at Easter time – dozens of his creations dyed in a flurry of furious, rainbowed color, slapped with stickers in a riot of modern artistry. Yet his grand father would always choose four special cream-shelled eggs (one for himself, one for Yuri, one for each of his parents), and a careful needle would open a hole to drain the yolk, sunbursts bleeding from the shell. Clear wax would carve translucent designs, and when the eggs were slipped beneath scalding onion-peel waters to become stained a rich cranberry brown, traditional worlds would blossom once more.

Yuri told him about those magical summer nights in St. Petersburg when darkness never fell because the sun never truly set, and even at midnight, the sky would be painted with a pearlescent glow. The first time he had gotten drunk on vodka, he had been thirteen, and had gone from sober to smashed in no time flat. Georgi had let him stay on his couch that night – though really, he had fallen asleep hugging the toilet as if it were a friend. Barely able to remember a life before skating, a world before the ballet barre – those endless hours of childhood devoted entirely to practice and training and tutors. But it paid off when he was twelve and they draped that medal around his neck at the Junior Grand Prix. There had never been a sweeter moment – until he gave the prize money to his grandfather. The older man had tried to refuse – but Yuri would never forget the way his eyes had shimmered through a veil of tears, diamond-kissed pride beaming from that strong face.

It was easier than he thought it would be. Talking to JJ. A strange discovery that he would have laughed at only days ago, laughing until tears sprang to his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. The idea of sharing a true conversation with his rival, his enemy. Opening up the past and offering little moments like a handful of marbles, small and simple and yet wrapped with their own beauty. Talking to JJ and enjoying it. 

Would wonders never cease?

Plates rested on the table between them, mismatched china plates scattered with a constellation of crumbs from the pastries they had devoured. But it was only after he had finished his second cup of coffee that Yuri realized that time was spinning away quicker than he had expected. The other shop patrons had filtered away, a comfortable crowd fading to a sparse handful of customers, until even they had disappeared into the darkness. And it was only them.

It was time to leave. 

Yuri was surprised to discover that his feet felt weighted, chained with a reluctance to step through the doors. To walk away from this conversation, to leave this safe haven and return to reality. The same reality that was stained with rivalries and a fierce hunger for gold, where the dawn would signal another day of competition, where only the ice-song mattered. He wanted to stay here in the warmth, where a warm mug of coffee cradled within his palms kept all confusion at bay. 

Yet they slipped out of the coffee shop and into the Montreal night.

Now that twilight had faded and night had fallen, the city had wrapped itself in another layer of beauty, something that Yuri hadn't thought possible. Golden lights shone through the darkness, illuminating those majestic stone buildings, a step out of time itself. The warm glow that reminded him of candles, miniature suns to keep weary travelers safe from the shadows and the chill lingering in the air. 

Above their heads, the bruised-night sky was broken by another glow. Paled silvered light from an almost-full moon fell down to kiss their cheeks. There were no stars overhead, though he imagined that he could feel them just beyond reach, thousands of glittering diamonds to dazzle amidst the blanket of darkness. But the light of Montreal drowned out the starsongs, turning the sky into a hazy, burnt charcoal that cradled only the moon. 

Yuri stufffed his fists into his pockets, his long legs stretching idly. The ache in his feet had disappeared, he was pleased to discover, but he wasn't tempted to push their pace. They walked slowly as the cold night curled around their bodies. Within his pocket, fingers dipped against a crinkle of plastic, the small bag containing the necklace, and his heart was pounding loud again. 

Silence had fallen between them. After the conversation in the coffee shop, the quiet stillness stretching between them felt heavy. Weighed down with an energy that he couldn't place, couldn't seem to recognize. Except that it made his tongue feel like cotton, and made his palms tremble before he could curl them into fists. He could feel a steady gaze upon him.

Fingers brushed once more against the crinkle of plastic, and Yuri scowled as he suddenly came to a stop. Taking a deep breath and summoning the courage he needed to act like a fool.

“JJ?” he asked, hating the way that the syllables fluttered awkwardly from his lips. Sounding so tentative. Great fucking start to a stupid idea. 

JJ came to a halt beside him, and Yuri could feel his silent, questioning gaze. Two boys caught beneath golden street lamps and silvered moon light, lost in a past world that time had skipped over. Cobbled streets mostly empty, giving them the illusion of privacy.

He kicked the ground, scuffing the toe of his converse shoe against the sidewalk. Purposefully, he added a harsh edge to his words, as if jagged-toothed syllables could sooth away the tentative hesitation threatening to bleed back into his voice.

“I got something for you,” he mumbled, glaring down at asphalt and brick. 

JJ tilted his head gently, and surprise colored his voice. “What?”

Yuri sighed. He could feel his fair cheeks flush with warmth – all too ready to reveal any hint of embarrassment. His fists unraveled in the pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out the small plastic bag and thrusting it at JJ's chest. 

Dark eyebrows shot up to his forehead, eyes widening with astonishment. They widened even further when the bag spilled a small object into his palm. It was the necklace from the store – the thin chain puddled against his palm, its charm cradled against his life line. The lion's face looked back at him, wild mane immortalized in metal, regal and proud.

There was a long moment of silence, and Yuri felt his stomach drop to his feet. 

“Thought it could help protect you from bad dreams,” he mumbled, his heart pounding, twisting with anxiety that he hid beneath a glare. “Cats are lucky and lions think they're the king.... But... But you can tell me if you hate it.”

JJ shook his head instantly, fingers already slipping the chain around his neck. “I love it,” he said firmly

Yuri felt pleasure glow through his marrow at those three words, anxiety dissolving into warmth and a strange satisfaction. He reached out, slender fingers plucking the lion from where it rested against JJ's chest, admiring it all over again. 

“Good,” he replied, and his lips were curved into a pleased little smile that melted into a smirk. 

His eyes lifted from the charm and upwards towards JJ's face, and he was startled at the expression written there in the other boy's eyes. His blue-grey gaze was smoldering with sapphire flames, brilliant and intense. It wasn't hunger – not that fierce, burning passion he had glimpsed yesterday on this ice. This was a softer sort of yearning. 

And suddenly, Yuri was aware of their closeness – the precious few inches that separated their bodies. He could feel JJ's heat – if he shifted his hand, he would be able to press palm against chest to savor the strong throb of a heartbeat pulsing against his lifelines. 

“I want to kiss you right now,” JJ said quietly. The dim light from the street-lamps cast sparks into his eyes, and edged his cheekbones in shadows, creating a halo of gold across his dark-hair. 

The charm slipped from Yuri's surprised fingers, and he found himself captured by moonstruck eyes. 

The universe stood still.

JJ inched closer, and one hand reached out, trailing light fingers across Yuri's jawbone. And the Russian youth wanted to close his eyes at the sparks, the electricity that danced and dazzled along every nerve. And the moon above was staring down – mirror moon, truth moon, see-through-all secrets moon, peel back your skin and bare your soul moon - 

And JJ's face was inches away, he could practically taste the words that rolled off of the other man's lips sweet and slow like honey, those dark eyes so intense, his heart was beating too fast and he couldn't remember how to breathe. The air felt still around them, the world was holding its breath, and Yuri couldn't look away. Everything was spinning, spiraling, and there was a sweet ache unfurling through his body.

“May I kiss you, Yuri?” Those fingers trailing down across his jaw, thumb curling over his chin, and Yuri couldn't silence the gasp that faded from his tongue, tumbling into the stars.

There was a small part of his mind that whispered: Run. Don't be an idiot. Don't dance into danger. Told him to push away JJ's hand and hear the slap of his chuck taylors against stone as he left this day behind. Urged him to erase those blue eyes from his mind, rewind the world until it unfolded exactly how it used to be. Where everything felt safe. And everything was simple. And everything made sense. 

But that shadows of fear are always brushed away by the light – and there were flames in his blood. Here in the darkness of the cool spring night, wrapped in shadows and the gold warmth of the dim street lights.... Here, Yuri could admit the truth. One simple touch was dismantling the denials, the lies, the evasions. Leaving only honesty.

Fuck. 

He wanted this.

The truth ached through his body, the nerves that unraveled at JJ's slightest touch. This desire that felt more like fire burning through his bones, making him fly, making him ache, making him drown. He couldn't pretend right now. 

“Okay,” Yuri whispered.

And then he felt one strong arm slip firmly around his waist, pulling him close. Then JJ's lips were upon his, and the world faded into this one moment. Lips that tasted like chocolate, sweet and decadent, sugar buzz in his blood like champagne and sunsets dissolving under the skin. Yuri wasn't even aware that his hands were brushing themselves against the velvet of his undercut, weaving themselves into the longer strands, midnight puddled against his palms.

All he could taste was JJ – fire and desire and sweetness and hunger, filling his senses. JJ's lips were firm and yet so soft, and the brush of his tongue was intoxicating, and he felt himself make a whimpering noise against the other boy's mouth, wishing he could press himself closer. He felt as if he was stained glass – cold and translucent – but JJ was the sunshine pouring through his veins, and the world was a riot of refracting rainbowed light. Dizzying and beautiful. And he had never felt these flames in his veins, so sweet and aching and fierce, scorching heat that begged for more.

When they finally pulled away, Yuri found himself trembling, his cheeks flushed. Struggling to remember how to breathe. Even JJ looked shaken and dazed, gasping in ragged mouthfuls of air while his tousled hair fell artlessly across his face. His arm was still curled around Yuri's waist, while the other hand was cupped along the other boy's jaw, strong fingers woven beneath golden strands of hair. Their foreheads rested together, and the Russian youth could feel JJ's heart-beat against his palm – racing as hard, as quickly as his own.

In the blink of an eye, everything had changed completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The song sung at the square is actually "Photograph" by Ed Sheeran. I heard an acoustic version of the song that had been slowed down a bit, and it was so hauntingly sad that it really stuck with me. So that's the reference here!
> 
> Note 2: GUYS! GUYS! The amazing and inspiring Drei decided to draw the final scene in this chapter, AND IT IS SO FUCKING BEAUTIFUL!! Are you ready to feel your heart swoon right out of your chest and weep from the beauty of amazing art? Then please go to her tumblr and check it out (and check out the rest of her kick-ass work)! I AM SO HONORED, ALCHEMATE! THANK YOUI! 
> 
> <http://aegisdea.tumblr.com/post/155954308156/based-from-arcanestarchilds-jyuripliroy>
> 
> Note 3: OH MY GOSH! Want to see even more phenomenal art-work for this chapter? Hold on to your horses and check out this beautiful piece by King-Chaton - and check out the rest of their tumblr! It is so freaking lovely! LOOK AT THOSE COLORS! Look at that expression on JJ's face! I can't decide whether I want to weep at its perfection or shriek with amazement! Seriously - thank you for this gorgeous art! 
> 
> <http://king-chaton.tumblr.com/post/160515786099/its-beautiful-he-said-wistfully-the-words>


	10. Cracking Open the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day after their exploration of Montreal. The final day of the Men's skate. This is everything that Yuri has been working towards. aka A lot of stuff happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I heard ya'll liked long chapters... So here's something to enjoy! The next chapter should be shorter, and shouldn't take as long! But I wanted to say thankyouthankyouthankyou for the overwhelming comments and beautiful words - you guys are fucking amazing and I cannot express my gratitude enough. Thank you for your patience and for being such magical human beings! <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Also... There's probably quite a few typos in this - but it's pretty late. So try to pretend they aren't there and I'll fix 'em tomorrow!

Vomit tasted sour upon his tongue, and Yuri spat into the toilet to clear the taste. His skin was clammy, cold sweat clinging to his flesh and his stomach lurched threateningly again. But there was nothing left to come up. He buried his head in his arms, elbows against porcelain, taking a long slow breath. Trying to calm the anxiety that fluttered through his body – those pale-petaled moths that threatened to burst forth from his lips with every shuddering drag of air. 

He couldn't remember the last time he had thrown up from nerves before an event. Was it his first Junior Grand Prix, so many years ago? The weight of responsibility curving his frail shoulders, desperately afraid of disappointing the ones he loved most. He had been nothing more than a child and the pressure had made his stomach twist like a nest of snakes, trying to slither their way up through his throat.

Yet now Yuri's knees were pressed against hard marbled floor, and his mouth tasted of bile and fear. His chest felt tight, steel bands encircling his sternum, and every breath seemed to catch itself on the edges of his ribs before stuttering out from between his lips. There wasn't enough oxygen scraping into his lungs – no matter how deep of a breath he tried to gasp down into his body, it still felt as if he was drowning. 

_You need to focus,_ the Russian boy snarled at himself. _Get your head in the game._

But how could he focus? JJ had kissed him. The moonlight against their skin and lips so sweet, he felt as if he was falling into an ocean of stars. The ragged gasp of their breath mingling between their lips, the faint tremble of bodies standing on the edge of divinity. 

Then morning had come. And when dawn had painted itself over the pale ivory of his hotel sheets, fear had somehow already crawled its way under his skin. Lashes fluttering open and mind still blurred with the echoes of the dreamlands, yet dread was already twisting knots into his guts.

JJ had kissed him. And Yuri had liked it. More than that. He had wanted to disappear into that bliss until nothing else in the entire world existed.

 _What are you doing?_ Yuri asked himself. He knew better than this. This was worse than playing with fire. This was offering to leap into the flames, to open his arms wide and laugh as his skin turned into ash. Love was a natural disaster. And too often, kisses were the compass that led one's feet into the trap. He knew where this path led. He needed to stop this.

This was dangerous. 

And yet, when morning had faded into afternoon and the Free Skating programs had begun, there was no JJ in sight. Yuri's green-glass eyes had flickered through the crowds, searching, in spite of himself, for that familiar tall form. Those broad shoulders clad in crimson, that flashing smile radiant with warmth, the splash of black hair gleaming as iridescent as a raven's wing. 

He had found himself wandering through the labyrinth of hallways and corridors, pushing silently past the throng of skaters and coaches and handfuls of reporters with microphones cradled in their palms. And yet... the Canadian King had been nowhere to be found. After the past few days, he had grown used to seeing the other boy almost every time he had turned around. Now, JJ's absence made every room feel hollow, echoing with the whisper of a black-haired ghost. 

Was JJ avoiding him? The thought caused a curious pain in Yuri's chest, a pang that felt like a needle pushed between the channeled straits of his ribs. His tongue felt too dry behind his teeth, and that was when anxiety had spiked, when his mouth went sour and nausea began to bloom.

Did JJ regret kissing him? Was he sorry that he had raised his hand to brush fingertips against his cheek, head bowing to claim the kiss that the Russian boy had given him permission to take? Had Yuri been a bad kisser, lips tasting of disappointment instead of desire? Had it only been an impulse move that the dark-haired lad wished he could take back, rewind the stars and erase those moments that had changed everything? Was JJ bored now? Had it only been a test to see if he could claim a kiss in the first place, a game that had lost its relish when it had lost its challenge?

Yuri had lifted his lip in a silent snarl, pushing his way past colleagues without a word. What was he doing? Why was he worried about a fucking kiss? He wasn't some school age girl, flustered over a silly crush. He was a professional skater. He was attempting to secure his place as the best figure skater in the entire world. Why was he focused on a kiss and some stupid flutter in his stomach? It would have been completely laughable if it hadn't been so fucking pathetic.

He needed to focus. He had more important things to worry about. His performance was hours away – twenty-three other men had advanced to the Free skate. Yet Yuri's was the last of them all, the period at the end of a tumultuous sentence. But he still needed to stretch, to finish the details of his costume, needed to replay his program within his mind and slip into the proper mindset.

Instead, he felt ill. Sickness under his skin, tattooed against tendons and sinews, and he couldn't seem to breathe properly. Luckily, the bathroom had been empty when Yuri had stumbled within, pushing into a stall to collapse onto his knees and promptly throw up. 

He was still there, elbows propped against porcelain, the marble-floor cold against his shins. Waiting for the dread to fade away, waiting for this riptide of anxiety to release him from its grasp, waiting for the trembling in his body to ease, finally. 

“Yuri?” Georgi's voice was a bullet through the oppressive silence – even his gentled voice echoed too loud against marbled floor. “You wanted me to come get you before Leroy's performance.”

“Coming,” he gasped. Yuri spat once more into the toilet, wiping his lips with the back of his wrist. Taking a deep, shuddering breath and forcing his body to unfold from its origami slump against the floor. 

He swung open the bathroom stall door, and saw his reflection over Georgi's shoulder. His mirrored image was startling.

Yuri's ivory skin was paler than usual, bleached bone instead of peach-kissed champagne. The circles smudged beneath his eyes like ash spoke of his sleepless night, tangled in sheets with the ghost of lips still brushing against his. Against those bruised crescents, his green eyes looked more luminous. Their emerald fire burnt fever bright and feral. The wanness of his flesh carved shadows into his cheeks, and across their curve of bone, pale gold shadow had been brushed. Adding a faint shimmer of sunlight to his skin, barely visible until he tilted his head to catch the light – and then he seemed to glow. Iridescent.

His tawny hair had been plaited back into loose twin braids that curled over his head in a golden crown. Woven amidst the tendrils were small ivory flowers, their edges dipped in gold that glittered with every tilt of his head. Yuri's skull ached from the amount of bobby pins securing his coif together, yet he had to admit that Mila's nimble fingers had created something truly magnificent.

Long sleeves were painted down Yuri's arms, pale golden lace that came to delicate points at his wrists. It crept across his shoulder blades, reaching upwards to encircle his throat in a high collar that gave his slender neck an entrancing elegance. At his shoulders, the lace shifted into a sheer chiffon that was barely visible above his flesh. Pale gold embroidery climbed over his chest, thick threads forming vines that reached across his ribs, gilded blossoms that unfurled over his sternum and crept against his hips. Crystals had been sewn into the hearts of each golden bloom, catching the light like a thousand aurelian stars. Beneath the sheer fabric of his chest, one could see the skin beneath – the sinews and tendons shifting with every breath, yet the embroidered vines and blossoms provided strategic modesty. Below his navel, the sheer chiffon melted into soft ivory fabric, silken and smooth. Yet on the outside of each leg, from thigh to ankle, a wide stripe of ivory had been cut away to reveal a handspan of golden lace once more.

He was a golden prince. Radiant and ethereal. Most skaters preferred to keep their costumes simple – to play it safe. But not Yuri. He wanted his performance to be seared into the minds of every witness, scorched beneath their lids so it played on repeat whenever they closed their eyes. He wanted to be unforgettable. 

Yet beneath the finery, Yuri's blanched skin and his shadowed eyes made him look... Evanescent. Just a fleeting, temporary beauty about to fade into the skies.

Georgi's bright blue eyes flared wide, and the glitter of surprise shone vivid upon his face, taking in the sight of the younger boy – his elaborate costume, the gold sheen to his cheeks, the gilded blossoms woven amidst the braids. 

“I thought I'd take a page from your book this time,” Yuri said, addressing the man who treated each program like a theater performance, wrapping dramatics around his body like the velvet weight of a cape.

Yuri forced a harsh smile to the edges of his lips, stepping towards the sinks to run cool water over feverish palms, to rinse the sour-acid from his tongue. When he looked over his shoulder, Georgi's surprise had faded into a frown. His brow furrowed above the arms crossed over his chest, studying the younger boy with a decade-bred familiarity that could see past gilt flowers and lace.

“What's wrong, Yurochka?” 

“Nothing is wrong,” he lied easily, voice flattened against his tongue. He was pleased that there was no tremble to the words, no hesitation that would expose the anxiety carving its way through his body. His face was as blank as his voice.

Georgi's frown grew deeper, and for a brief moment, his lips parted – prepared to challenge the words. They had known each other long enough for him to recognize the half-lidded languish of Yuri's eyes, the subtle raise of the chin that spelled deception. But he seemed to reconsider the idea, perhaps not wanting to spark the other boy's temper on such an important day.

“C'mon on then,” he said instead, shoulders falling beneath a heavy sigh. “He's next.”

Yuri slipped into a dark hoodie, carefully pulling the hood up over his elaborately plaited hair, zipping it closed over the golden thread and tawny lace – wanting to retain as much surprise for his costume as he could when he stepped onto the ice for his own performance. Then he shrugged into his team Russia jacket, a mirror of the jacket clinging to his rinkmate's shoulders. With a scowl on his face to hide his emotions, he was ready to face the world.

Georgi led him through the labyrinth of corridors, weaving past fellow skaters, coaches, reporters, sports writers – it was the usual cacophony of chaos. Laughter and cheers, calls of encouragement and tears of bitter disappointment – emotions ran high behind the scenes. But Yuri walked through them, blank faced and straight shouldered, until they were finally rink side. 

Yuri's heart slammed against his ribs as he saw the Canadian boy for the first time since the night before. 

JJ stepped upon the ice with with his usual grace, his lashes closed as his hand raised up to trace the cross across his chest in that backwards Catholic style. He was dressed simply, onyx pants clinging to long legs. A tight black t-shirt practically painted onto his chest – sleeves rolled up to reveal the carved muscles of biceps. The Canadian boy looked like he should have been wearing a leather jacket, comb in the pocket to run through greased hair. He was channeling the spirits of rebel boys speeding through the night in race-cars beneath the stars, their roman-candle hearts burning too bright, flickering out too fast. 

The music began, and JJ's body burst into motion – a song that summoned visions of jukeboxes and swing dancing, fingers plucking bass strings and piano keys prancing while feet stomped against the floor. The smirk that dimpled his cheek matched the mischief of the music, the energy of a past that seemed so innocent now.

JJ was laughing, bringing the audience in on the fun. His step-sequence invoked ghosts of another king, an arm windmilling as if stroking a guitar, knees bent while popping up onto the toes of his skates, a pelvic thrust that could have sent a crowd of teenagers into a swoon. His jumps were filled with his usual power – hurling himself towards the sky. 

It was not a perfect performance, but then, none of the previous performances had been either. JJ fell once towards the end, landing too rough, too fast after a quad lutz – but he was back on his feet with that same wide grin. What had been a triple salchow in practice had been reduced to a double, but that was not unusual. In the midst of skating, performers had to be ready to make minute adjustments to their program. It was better to land a clean double than falter on the triple – sometimes, it was best to play it safe rather than risk losing all points or trading points for injuries. 

Yet even with the imperfections, there was no denying the pure strength of his performance. The other clean landings, the mischievous laughter on his face, the energy in each movement that pulsed so perfectly with the music. 

Yuri watched, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket to hide the way his fingers were curled into fists. Heart roaring in his ears, breath stolen at the sight of JJ's talent, the stunning display of finesse. There was a thrill in the Russian boy's veins that came from watching a fellow artist spin their craft into visions of beauty and power. Knowing how much effort was poured into making a performance look so effortless – hundreds of hours of sweat and bruises and torn muscles, bodies battered mercilessly to prepare for this handful of minutes that would be shared with the world. 

It wasn't a surprise to anyone when JJ received his scores in the Kiss and Cry, flanked by his parents who beamed proudly. 191.85 were the marks for his full program. Which brought his total score up to 289.46. He had ensured his place at the front of the pack – taking the crown from Chris and bumping the Swiss down to second place. 

The day was only halfway over, though, Yuri reminded himself as he watched JJ accept hugs and shake hands from across the rink. Someone handed him a giant bouquet of flowers, which he accepted just as graciously, cradling them in his arms.

Yuri flicked his gaze away, watching as the next contender took their place on the ice. There were still hours left, which meant there were still plenty of opportunities for the crown to be wrested away from the Canadian boy. Though, he had a sneaking feeling that no one else would come close to touching that score. JJ had flown so high, had shone so bright – who else could replicate that kind of dazzle, that kind of heart?

He would. The gold was still his. 

He had worked so hard. He couldn't give up now. He was so close.

It was the thought that the young man clung to as the minutes passed, as Georgi caught sight of his girlfriend and Yuri barely noticed that he left, watching the next performance with unseeing eyes. Until the wisps of fine hair at the nape of his neck gave a prickle, and he felt heat at his back – so close and yet so far away.

“Were you cheering me on, chaton?” 

The low murmur was enough to make Yuri's eyes flutter closed, warmth breathing its way up his spine. It was the first time he had heard JJ's voice all day, and its soft laughter sounded more like a song. The way each syllable felt shrouded in a velvet smile.

He drew in a slow breath, slowly turning around to face the Canadian whom he hadn't seen since the night before. Trying to keep his face blank, nonchalant. Untouched and untouchable. But Yuri wanted to soak in the sight of the other boy. Balanced easily on black skates, JJ was even taller – sun-kissed skin flushed with victory. His eyes were so vibrant, electric storms with lightning hearts, and there was no hint of regret in their depths. There was no discomfort in the grin that curled over his face, a cheshire cat smile painted with elation. JJ's arms were still curled around the bouquet of flowers – an armful of roses wrapped and ribboned, their purple petals unfurled like a cluster of amethyst hearts.

Beautiful. And the warmth in that smile, the secret flash of fire meant for Yuri alone … Something untangled inside of him. The knot of dread unraveling. That chorus of anxious questions growing silent in his head, and for the first time all day, he felt as if he could breathe. 

“It was a good program,” Yuri acknowledged, and the compliment felt foreign against the tip of his tongue. 

JJ's grin grew even wider, that smug little half-smirk that Yuri had seen so many times over the years. Yet he couldn't see arrogance behind it now. All he could see was satisfaction – that fierce glitter of pride in one's abilities after an endless cycle of struggle and sacrifice.

“It had to be good if I wanted to give you a run for your money,” came JJ's teasing response. 

Danger, came that faint whisper to remind him. But Yuri didn't know which was the greater danger. The way that tangle of anxious dread had faded at the sight of the dark-haired man, shadows taking flight before the brightness of sunshine. Or the realization that it was difficult to be around JJ in public, trying to pretend normalcy when the world stirred around them. 

Yuri had to look away from JJ's face. Turning his gaze back towards the ice because those blue-poppy eyes threatened to pull him in. He was afraid that his thoughts would be scrawled upon his cheeks, afraid that the rest of the world would catch a glimpse and recognize the truth tattooed upon his lips. He was getting distracted again. He needed to focus. He needed to get his head in the game. 

“Enjoy first place while you can,” Yuri said, his voice hardening, fingers curling up into fists. His jaw tightened beneath a wave of determination. “I'm going to destroy your score.”

JJ wasn't offended or surprised by his brashness, the sudden change of tone. “I really hope you do,” came the other boy's voice, and it was brimming with laughter. 

Yuri spared him a glance through a fringe of golden lashes. “Are you going to cheer me on?” he asked, and the sarcastic edge to his voice wasn't quite enough to obscure the serious curiosity behind the quiet question. 

But JJ's eyes seemed to glow warmer, and the amusement in his voice softened into sincerity, his words pitched low and gentle. “I always do,” he said.

Yuri's lips parted in response, words floundering in his throat. But before he could wrack his brain for a proper reply, there was an interruption.

“Yura!” It was Georgi's voice approaching – pressed with just a little too much cheer. His blue eyes had obviously caught the sight of the younger Russian boy left alone in the company of his greatest rival And like any older brother, he was ready to rescue his loved ones from the discomfort of their foes – even if it meant leaving the side of his precious girlfriend.

Yuri had no choice but to allow Georgi to pull him away under an obviously flimsy pretense, glaring while JJ's eyes were brimming with laughter. But he knew that it was necessary. Any further conversation would be notable in its strangeness. After years of teasing and snarls, hatred and curses – friendly communication and rinkside laughter would be suspicious to anyone with a brain inside of their skull.

Why was it so hard to walk away from the Canadian boy and his storm-cloud eyes and that smile that held enough sunshine to quell the clash of fear?

It was back to the hallways where the other skaters waited, the entire world represented in a few dozen men with silver glinting from their boots. The best of the best. And yet, Yuri knew they were not his threat. Even now, even after a kiss under the moonlight – this was the one part that had not changed. JJ was still his biggest rival. 

The next hours passed by agonizingly slow. Minutes crawling forward, seconds slinking and stretching into an eternity. The Russian boy stretched, he paced, he watched as the other skaters rose to their feet. Trying to ignore that silver thrill of anxiety still snaking through his veins, yet grateful that it had lost some of its power. It curled in his stomach like an ouroboros, the serpent that devoured its own tail – weakened, yet ever present. He still felt raw around the edges, restless and edgy – but at least it was manageable. And so Yuri watched, blank faced, as the room emptied. One by one, the other men left to make their way onto the ice, attempting to charm the judges and prove themselves with the magic of their performances. 

Yuri was the last. 

And finally, it was his turn to rise to his feet, to follow his coaches down the hallways and towards the frozen battlefield that awaited. The tawny-haired boy shrugged out of his jacket and hoodie, passing them off to Lilia's outstretched hand. He gave his skate-guards to Yakov. And then he stood silently beside the ice, another cold-kissed soldier, a boy of gold glitter and lace. 

Yuri took one long, slow breath. And stepped out onto the rink.

It was supposed to be a performance to mirror his short program. Only two days ago, he had flown across the ice, clad in crimson and shadows, a demon boy spun from temptation. He had peered into the hearts of countless humans, teasing fingers beckoning. Promising to become their most beautiful sin. Damnation upon his lips, yet vowing a world of pleasure in exchange. 

The mirror of damnation was redemption, and that is what this program would offer. An angel woven from ivory and gold, a beauty too pure to be tarnished. He would be their salvation – slender fingers brushing away every taint of sin. Breathing forgiveness into their lungs. He was absolution. He was Redemption itself. 

Yet Yuri's heart was pounding so hard as he stepped onto the ice, as he took his place at the center. Feeling the steady eyes of a thousand watchers, and he straightened his shoulders beneath the weight of their expectations. There was a low murmur from their throats, their gazes soaking up the sight of his elaborate costuming, the way the light caught the crystals buried in lace and thread, crowning him in stars. It was a sound of approval, and he raised his chin, a faint smile lurking at the edges of his lips.

And the music began. Violins, gentle and slow, began to whisper through the air. Dancing notes that twined around each other like ribbons, weaving amidst the rich song of the cellos. Light and ethereal. Summoning visions of clouds, an ocean of pale ivory softness to wrap around the soul. A dreamscape of eternal beauty to spur him forward.

 _I am your redemption_ , Yuri whispered to himself as he began, slipping into character once more. Slowly easing into a loose circle across the ice, a smooth movement of grace. _Kneel before me and I shall wash away the shadows. Let my lips kiss your brow. Close your eyes and I shall bathe you in light. Let me take away your sins._

He laughed as he gathered his body, and jumped. A triple axel to begin the most important performance of his life. He was going to dazzle them from the very start. He wanted their hearts to pulse with the wonder of his artistry – an angel trapped in the body of a man.

He laughed. He leapt. He tasted the clouds upon the tip of his tongue, could almost feel the air curl beneath feathered wings to lift him higher, the world spinning into a blur before gravity finally decided to reel him back him.

But gravity was too strong. It tugged too hard, too urgent in its desire to remind the blond-haired boy that feet belonged firmly planted upon the ground. And when he landed, his weight shifted, his skate wobbled. And he fell. 

_No._

The collective gasp tore from countless throats, a sound of horror and shock that echoed in his ears as he tumbled. Yuri's body reacted on impulse, more than a decade of practice littered with a thousand falls before this – and he knew to relax, to tuck his head away from the impact. A tangle of golden limbs and tawny hair against the ice – and he was scrambling back to his feet before he had even come to a stop.

The illusion was shattered. But Yuri was lucky. His left foot was aching, but there were no torn muscles, no sprained tendons, no blood against the ice. He would bear a constellation of bruises across his body, but that was a pain he deserved. He couldn't stop. His cheeks were flushed beneath the golden shadow that glimmered upon his face – and it was hard to breathe around the shame burning inside of his chest. 

Shame. Shame that tasted like ash against his tongue, spreading fingers through his veins and making his ribs ache. Stomach twisting into knots, that tangle of dismay almost too-familiar after the afternoon's distress. Something was cracking inside of his chest, something was breaking, a myriad of fractures deepening into canyons that tore across across his heart, and he was falling, he was plummeting, he was breaking apart – he couldn't breathe around the panic – he had disappointed from the very start - 

It was never enough, was it? 

Suddenly, Yuri was no longer the angel with a graceful palm held out to accompany the promise of redemption. For a brief moment, he had flown. He had soared through the skies, shrouded in glory. And then he had fallen, crashed to the ice as if his wings had been clipped. He wasn't the angel of redemption after all – he was the fallen, he was the forsaken. 

He could hide everything when he was clad in his leather jacket, his hoodie, all sneer and snarl and burning eyes. But on the ice.... Nothing could be hidden from its gaze. Even as he shifted into the step sequence, his body on autopilot, even as he tore across the ice - he felt as if he was drowning. 

_Focus,_ Yuri tried to tell himself, tried to growl, tried to snarl, tried to summon fury to lend him strength, but all he could do was feel. All he could do was skate.

How could he pretend to offer redemption when he was lost himself? When he was just a foolish human boy, alone and empty and constantly stretching for the stars – as if their light could somehow kiss away the shadows serpentining through his chest – as if he could be worthy of atonement when grace kept slipping between fingers to shatter against the ground, broken disappointment cracked and hollow.

Yuri knew it was pathetic. What weakness was this, that a simple fall could cause such pain? He was the Ice Tiger of Russia – he couldn't break down, he couldn't drown beneath the pressure, he couldn't fail them, he couldn't let them all see. But this wasn't just a fall, this wasn't just a single tumble during the more important event of his life – it was steel shields breaking beneath a tidal wave of emotion. It was years of loneliness shattering through, spun through with guilt and the burning ache to prove himself worthy- worthy to himself and worthy to the world. 

More than a decade of denial, spent pushing away the whispers of guilt and the faint flutters of sadness blooming through his mind, ruthlessly tearing away their petals and stems. But paying no attention to the roots that sunk themselves deeper, growing stronger in bitter earth. Ignoring the way the heart in his chest had frozen into glass – cold crystal beauty, unbreakable and untouchable. Accepting the loneliness that curled itself through his blood, knowing that the isolation was something inevitable. Something deserved. Ignoring the emptiness spreading itself behind his ribs, black oil shadows nestling against his spine – wasn't it a worthy price to pay for perfection?

Yet hadn't he paid enough? The bouquet of bruises blooming against his skin, the bones snapped and the muscles torn, the blood spilled against the ice, the endless tears of burning salt, the brutal destruction of the body in pursuit of a dream. If he could just try hard enough, if he could sacrifice enough, if he could be perfect – then perhaps the emptiness would fade. That jolt of life that he felt when he skated – that dazzle of immortality – the rush of vitality - perhaps it would stay. There would be no more coldness, no more fury, no more shadows. 

And yet perfection always laid just beyond Yuri's fingertips. Redemption unreachable.

 _I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry._

There was something desperate about Yuri's movements now, the cellos swelling behind him, urging him forward as he began to skate, as his body rippled and swayed and spun, fingers cradling desolation to his chest. Faster, Faster. He thought of the girl with the guitar in her hands, tearing open her chest to let the world see the scars etched into her heart, and that's how he felt. Raw. Everything torn open wide, no way to hide. And everyone could see. Could watch as his lips twisted into a silent cry, even as his body stretched into an arabesque, every movement haunted and hopeless.

He had disappointed so many people. And the Russian boy could feel each failure, all at once, pressing down like heavy stone against his chest.

 _I am sorry I couldn't heal the faultlines of your grief,_ Yuri wanted to whisper to his mother. _I''m sorry I didn't have enough love to fill the chasm of loss that shattered your heart. I'm sorry I didn't grab your hand when you left that night,_ he wanted to say to the ghost of his father. _I'm sorry I slept while you died in the darkness. I'm sorry I have forgotten your face and the sound of your voice._

Cold air tickled his cheeks – and Yuri was spinning, spinning – the music lifting him into a quad flip as easily as a single – and the moment he landed, he was moving again. Faster. The fallen prince seeking redemption, searching for the perfection that was always just beyond reach. His hand stretched out wide, fingers extended in plea. In apology. Chasing, chasing after a dream that always slipped between his fingers. Consumed by the shadows that lurked around him, pulling him under, the coldness of mortality, abandoned by the beauty of the light. Fallen from grace – fallen from the love of all that could have saved him. Pounding on pearly gates, screaming – I'm sorry – I'm sorry – let me back in – I'll never disappoint you again. 

Yuri thought of his grandfather and another piece of his heart seemed to break off from the rest, a jagged shard to slice against his ribs. _I'm sorry I spent too much time skating and not enough time with you. I didn't know the minutes were so finite until they were gone, and you were too. I thought we had more time, I thought we had forever. I never thought I'd have to say good-bye._

He gathered his body, hurling himself hopelessly at the sky, quad lutz to triple toe – the landing was clean and yet it still wasn't enough, it still wasn't enough to calm the panic, the sadness, the heartache, this desperate need for atonement.

Every jump was an apology torn from his chest, as if he could offer pain and sweat as a sacrifice to prove his sincerity. Every graceful sweep of his arm was an act of contrition. Yuri couldn't focus on the dance itself – it had imprinted itself upon his body through a thousand brutal practices – every muscle remembered what to do.

Yuri thought of Yakov and Lilia, who had stepped in to fill the empty shoes of parental figures. They had sacrificed so much to bring him here. They had pushed him towards perfection, seeing something inside of him that he couldn't see for himself, and they deserved more than this disappointment he offered. _I am sorry I couldn't make you more proud,_ the boy whispered into the silence. _You deserve another Viktor to continue your legacy and I'm sorry it can't be me._

The ice was a merciless deity. It could offer such joys, such pride, such freedom. And yet... It demanded the truth. It was not content with precious illusions or happy fantasies. Only honesty. He had sacrificed everything for this. His childhood. His family. Friendships. Nothing had been worth more than this moment, this chance – and yet now, it was a chance he didn't feel worthy of taking. 

Yuri thought of Georgi and Mila, his rinkmates who were the siblings he had never had. Who had spent more than a decade ruffling his fair hair, helping him train, treating him as an equal while teasing tumbled from their lips, trying to give him a taste of the childhood he had never really had. _You deserve a better friend than I have ever been. A better friend than I could ever be,_ he whispered to them, even as his body slung itself into a quad salchow, even as he landed. _I'm sorry._

Everything was ripping open and spilling onto the ice and he couldn't hide it. A swell of sorrow so profound, it felt nestled against the pearl of his bones. The stadium was deathly silent, but all Yuri could hear were the tears lurking in the heart of the violin, the heart-shattered cry of the cello. Before, the music had sounded elegant, poignant with a luscious majesty. How could this be the same song? It was the sound of loneliness, of desperation. Hopelessness 

Yuri thought of JJ. He remembered the way JJ's lips tasted upon his, their firm softness, the heat of the other boy's breath and the way his heart had pounded so hard and even his blood sang. 

_I'm sorry I'm frightened,_ he wanted to tell the other boy. _I'm sorry I'm so angry. The world is so empty and everything is dark, and it is so cold out here alone. I don't want to be alone anymore, but I don't know how to be anything else and this is all I have, this is all I am, and I know it's not enough for you and I know this means nothing and I'm sorry._

Yuri pushed himself harder, thinking of those warm blue eyes, wanting to cling to their light when he felt as if he was falling. Quad toe, double toe, double loop – his body was shaking, felt like it was breaking, but he couldn't stop, he needed to push through this weakness, even when the world was cracking around him. Even when everything felt so cold. How fitting. He wasn't a demon prince any longer. He was just a fallen angel, cursed to the bleakness of mortality. Redemption was love. It was forgiveness. And he didn't feel worthy of either. 

It was almost over. Yuri's muscles were trembling with fatigue, yet he couldn't stop. He leapt into the air as high as he could, one last attempt at flight, his body twisting before plummeting into a death drop. And falling further, folding into a sit spin, leg extended. Grateful for the chance to hide his face, the diamonds of tears that shimmered across his vision that he couldn't let fall. Pulling them back inside of his broken chest, the world still spinning as he rose to his feet, faster and faster and faster – one hand extended up towards the heavens. 

_I have failed you_ , he whispered. 

And it was done. 

There was a moment of silence, a heavy hush that felt crushing in its severity. All Yuri could hear was the painful throb of his heart-beat, the gasping breathes that tore from his throat. And then... The applause was like an ocean, a storm, screams and cheers and howls – a sound that was unlike anything he had heard before. Deafening. 

He closed his eyes against the sounds, those undeserved cries that washed over his body and made way off the ice. He felt battered in every way. Defeated. 

Sweat sheened against his brow, and he wiped it away with his fingertips, gratefully accepting the bottle of water that Lilia handed him. Even his fingers felt weak, every muscle shuddering beneath the flesh. Yuri was still struggling to catch his breath, unable to meet their eyes. Unable to look anyone in the face after that performance. Years worth of emotions bursting forth onto the ice, and he felt drained. Exhaustion tangling through his bones. 

Yuri grabbed the jacket that Lilia offered, and he slid his arms into the familiar fabric – the red and blues and whites curling over him like a shield. Raising the zipper as if to cover the ribs that had felt exposed to the world. Armor. Finally. 

Only then did the golden-haired boy follow them into the Kiss and Cry, taking a seat, too tired to even cringe at the camera pointed at his face. Every muscle in his body ached. He was shaking. He was empty and numbed. Drenched with sweat and yet he felt frozen. Wrapping his fingers around the water again to hide their trembling – he felt weak. All energy gone. He felt like a wilted flower, leaves shriveled beneath the sun. He wanted to close his eyes and disappear. 

Lilia was murmuring something to him, but Yuri couldn't even understand her words. Her voice was a blur, a haze at the edges of his ears. He spared a brief glance upwards, could see her lips moving, curling around each graceful syllable, and yet she sounded so far away. 

He looked down again, too weary to try to decipher the mess of language. But he shrugged wordlessly – always an appropriate response - stuffing his hand into the pockets. And that was when Yuri found the energy for a faint frown. Skin brushed against something softer than silk, gentle coolness against the whirls of his fingertips. There was something in his pocket that hadn't been there before his program had begun. 

It was a flower, he saw when he pulled it out. Not just any flower. It was a rose. So small, Yuri could curl his fingers around it while it sat in the palm of his hand. Tender petals of purple, a lavender that darkened slightly at its edges. There were no leaves – just a stem that was only a few inches long, cleared of thorns. 

He stared for a long, dull moment before he remembered the large bouquet of purple roses in JJ's hands after his performance – their lavender blossoms threatening to overflow from his arms. Where else could it have come from? Yet how could JJ have managed it during the handful of minutes he had spent on the ice without anyone noticing? 

In spite of himself, in spite of the bone-shattering weariness curling through his veins, in spite of the way his spirit felt scrapped raw – Yuri felt a little glow of warmth in his stomach. It was just a spark, a faint breath of flame amongst the crystalline ice kissed across his bones – but it was something. He clung to it. Clung to that warmth like a promise, like a lifeline. And a faint hint of a smile quirked the edges of his lips. He gave the blossom spin a little twirl between his fingertips. 

Lilia gave him a nudge, startling him out of his slow thoughts. 

They were getting ready to announce his score. Yuri looked towards the screen, though his heart was pounding with that ache of dread. He didn't want to see. He had broken down on the ice. He had fallen apart. He did not want to see the replay of his disgrace, or the score it deserved. 

He took a slow breath, prepared for the inevitable. 

Full Program Score: 199.27. His final numbers: 297.65 

Yuri stared at it for a long moment. Even when he heard Lilia's gasp, saw her fingers fly up towards her mouth, saw the rivers of tears spill over and the most beautiful smile bloom across the red of her lips... He didn't understand. Even when he heard Yakov's shout of laughter – that harsh bark of joy – even when he felt the hard slap of thick palm and twisted knuckles against his spine – he couldn't comprehend it. 

He had won? He had won. It didn't make sense. How? His performance was just a blur against his memories – all he could distinctly remember was the sorrow in his veins, the hopelessness, his body on autopilot as the pain broke through, overwhelming everything. He didn't understand. It had to have been a mistake – the judges were wrong – he had fallen apart - 

On the screen, there was a snippet of his performance being replayed. And Yuri froze. His sea-glass eyes widened, and there were no words for the shock coursing through his veins. It was like staring at a different boy. 

Above him, there was an golden lad stretching out his hand as if pleading for mercy, and every line of his body was one beautiful curve. It was beauty and it was passion. It was exquisite heart-break turned into art. Yuri didn't look like a boy having a nervous breakdown on the ice – he looked like a fallen angel, searching for grace. His line sequence turned desperate pain into refined precision. Every jump was an attempt to reach the heavens, and every landing was smooth, graceful. The elongation of his arms, the supple sweep of his body, elegant and beautiful, and the sadness on his face – there was a raw vulnerability that was breath-taking in its loveliness. The same emotions echoed in every moment. It was heart-breaking. It was haunting. It was almost perfect. 

He had won. He had done it. Realization was sinking in through the shock, yet it still didn't feel real, even though Yakov was patting him on the back, roaring with laughter. Lilia was beaming with happiness, leaning forward to kiss his cheek and usual cold glitter of her eyes had smoothed into a pride so vast, he could wrapped himself in its warmth like a blanket. 

Yuri's eyes flickered away – away from his coaches, away from the cameras, away from the screen – landing upon a familiar black-clad figure standing at the edge of the rink, a few dozen meters away. He couldn't see the blue of JJ's eyes, but he could see the awe painted across the other boy's face. As if JJ had looked into the heart of a star and its light had printed itself beneath his eyes. As if he had truly witnessed a winged boy spin through the heavens. Something so beautiful, so profound, it defied all words. 

It didn't feel real. It didn't feel real as the cameras flashed in his face and the congratulatory voices blurred together into a chorus. It didn't feel real later when Yuri stood once more in the middle of the rink, arms lifted to the sky to embrace the screams of the crowd. When he took his bow, the purple rose was tucked carefully in the golden plaits of his hair, and the screams turned deafening in their joy. When he climbed onto the podium and took his place at the top, forcing his trembling legs to keep straight, the entire world felt blurred with a slow, dreamlike quality. 

It felt surreal when he saw JJ step onto the ice, skating towards the center where the crowd screamed, where the dark-haired man flashed his fingers into his J's. Cameras flashed in the darkness and JJ swept down into a bow, laughing as he rose – laughing as he turned lazily on silver-edges and skated towards the podium, stepping onto the red carpet unfurled like a ribbon before them. 

Yuri felt his heart falter as JJ stopped below him. Saw that secret half-smile crook the edge of his lips, the sparkle of pleasure glittering in that navy-blue gaze. It was traditional for the champions to exchange hugs and handshakes before climbing the podium, so he leaned down – and in front of the world, his arms curled around JJ's shoulders. 

“You did it, chaton,” JJ whispered into his ear, and there was no disguising the pride in his voice. 

And that was when it became real. Warm breath tickling against his ear and the screaming cheers of the crowd felt overwhelming – and it wasn't a dream. It wasn't a figment of his imagination and it wasn't a trick and it wasn't a mistake. 

He had won. 

The hug was too brief – just a fleeting heart-beat of warmth. Just two athletes offering friendly congratulations for their victories in the eyes of the world. Then arms fell away, and JJ climbed up onto the podium, taking his place one rung below his. Standing tall, regal – a proud King once more upon his throne. 

It was time for the last of their trio, the winner of the bronze. Yuri watched Christophe step onto the ice, his chin held high as the stadium roared for the victory he had achieved. When the Swiss man claimed his congratulatory hugs, Yuri saw the veil of tears that shimmered in those vivid green eyes. His grin was radiant with the taste of triumph The man with a rainbow smile was the darkest horse at the competition – he had not won a competition in the past two years. Yet here he was. And never before had he looked more beautiful. Never before had Chris looked happier. 

Except perhaps, when they draped the medal around his neck, the bronze weight shining against his ribs like a metallic heart. Pearled tears clung to those thick dark lashes, and if a few fell to brush salt against his lips, no one would blame him. It was his last season. Everyone knew. No one expected him to place so high at one of his last events. Yet here he stood, poised on the podium at the Worlds. 

It was a fitting goodbye. 

JJ bowed his head to accept the silver medal, a gesture as smooth as he did everything. How could one simple movement convey such gravity – like a king kneeling to accept the weight of a crown? When he straightened again, the smile stretched across his lips was filled with warmth and gratitude, and Yuri knew that he was silently thanking everyone who had helped him reach this point. 

Then it was his turn, and Yuri had to lean forward for them to slip the ribbon over his neck, and the weight of the gold medal felt like forgiveness. Felt like the key to golden gates, or perhaps just to happiness. He thought his heart was going to burst inside of his chest. Dizzy with the overwhelming joy of it all. This was everything he had wanted. Everything he had ever dreamed of. 

They stood on the podium, a pantheon of Gods who held sway over the cold ice and the warm hearts of men. They were the victorious. They were the undefeated. They were the champions of the world. 

\--------------

After the ceremony, it was Christophe who demanded a proper celebration. The banquet would be tomorrow night, but why celebrate for one night, when they could celebrate for two? It was his last season before retirement – and he knew that no one would refuse him. It was more than a celebration of their triumph – their talent recognized in the eyes of the world – it was also a goodbye. Such bittersweet accomplishments deserved proper revelry.

Which meant that Yuri found himself rolling his eyes, hours later, as the Swiss man pulled him into the nightclub. There had been time to wash the gold shadow from his face, to unweave the braided crown and untuck the flowers, to gently place the purple rose on the table beside his bed. Now, his hair fell in rippled waves past his collarbone – ambered tendrils loose and free. He wore simple black jeans, tight against his long legs that tapered down to his Chuck Taylors. His t-shirt clung to his lithe torso, purple and black zebra stripes rivering over his chest. A leather bracelet clung to one wrist.

He wasn't surprised that everyone was there – except Yuuri and Viktor – how had Chris let that slide? But then, Yuuri had seemed a little under the weather, which probably explained why he hadn't placed today. The Russian boy had grown used to sharing the podium with the Japanese skater. 

But there was Mila and Sara – there was the beaming Phichit – there was Georgi with his arm slung over the shoulder of his girlfriend. Leo and Guang Hong. Emil was laughing and clapping Mickey on the shoulder. 

And his heart gave a leap. There was JJ. Clad in jeans and a simple black t-shirt that was reminiscent of his free program outfit. Even dressed simply, he still managed to stand out. He still managed to capture attention, a faint grin crooking the corner of his lips. Blue eyes met green, and Yuri felt a thrill, a touch of electricity dancing its way up his spine. Breathing energy into weary limbs. Brushing away the exhaustion that tangled against his bones.

It was going to be an interesting night.

It started with shots at the bar – the entire group raising glasses to toast the champions, to celebrate all of their performances, to toast Chris' retirement, and then it was time to dance. Half of the group melted onto the dance floor to begin their celebration in the form of swaying hips and stomping feet, while the other half lingered at the edges the bar, voices raising in a chorus of laughter and shouts of happiness.

Beside him, Yuri saw the tightness in Mila's shoulders, the frown barely hidden at the edges of her lips. A sadness around her eyes as she watched Sara spin around the dance floor, her fingers running up the arm of a flustered Leo. But the dancing girl's smile was a just a little too wide, that teasing grin just a little too forced.

They must have been fighting again. It didn't happen often, but he had learned to recognize the signs over the past three years. Sara chaffed under the identity of Secret. Of Best Friend, and nothing more. Social media was peppered with thousands of pictures and videos of them together, captioned as friends so close they could have been sisters. 

Never could Sara wear the titles she deserved. Lover. Girlfriend. Paramour – not without risking Mila's career. So the fights would bloom, and Sara would flirt with unfortunate boys who could never understand just how untouchable she truly was, that her heart was cradled in the palm of a beautiful fire-haired girl with pain in her eyes. 

Mila grabbed his arm suddenly, pulling him onto the dance floor and ignoring his protests. “We're here to celebrate,” she said stubbornly. “Which means dancing.” 

Yuri remembered that dance off years ago. How he had grumbled and sneered, yet hadn't hesitated to make a fool of himself on the dance floor beside the drunk and swaying Yuuri. It was different here in the darkness with florescent lights painting across the pearl of his skin. The shadows were broken by a rainbowed lightning – rays of cobalt mingled with flickers of crimson and streaks of emerald and columns of amethyst. The light wove through the air, forming intricate patterns above their heads, against their bodies. Humans turned into galaxies – they danced in the heart of a crystalline prism, lost in the light and the music that pulse through them.

The music slowed, a sudden shift in ambiance as a new song began. 

The dance floor emptied as the beat shifted to a low, throbbing pulse – soft and sensual. It was the perfect chance for most dancers to hydrate or step outside for a puff of smoke. And suddenly, there was room to breathe, room to move. Only a dozen dancers were left on the dance floor, where moments before, there had been hundreds.

Yuri closed his eyes and felt the music run through him, marveled at the way the pulse of the drum could surge through his bones, sinking into his marrow. How the croon of the singer's voice could curl into his blood like ribbons of moonlight. Nearby, he could sense Mila, and beyond her was Sara – a trio of dancers lost in the notes that tugged at the tides of their hearts.

It was magic spun between them. Every sway of the hips was an incantation that set the heart racing, hypnotic and powerful. Wrists twisted and fingers painted patterns in the air, weaving spells that enchanted the senses, summoned visions of celestial beauties with the taste of infinity upon their tongues. They were sirens with opiate eyes, weaving a song between their bodies that could drown unsuspecting mortals who ventured too close.

A smile curved the edges of the Russian boy's lips, and his lashes fluttered open. And through their fringe, he could see a familiar figure across the room. Leaning against a wall with a plastic cup between his fingers, JJ nodded his head absently to an excited Leo who was gesturing wildly beside him. But in spite of the conversation, the Canadian man was clearly distracted. Watching Yuri.

Yuri could feel his body responding differently. As if the heat from a pair of blue eyes could ignite his nerves, body turning slow, sensual. Hand raising with dancer grace, how even the twist of wrist could capture the eyes. How hips could slink and sway, every sinew beckoning. Mesmerizing. An enchantment in the form of a boy – who could resist?

He dared to turn his head, to peer between the strands of gold silk that brushed his cheeks – and caught that twinned blue gaze once more. Caught them and held, refused to look away. And Yuri couldn't help the smirk that curved his lips.

Was this what Adonis felt when he stood before Aphrodite? Saw the fire of desire alight in the eyes of a Goddess, suddenly aware of his own beauty, his own power – such a fascinating, frightening tool. Reveling in this new feeling. He felt like a muse, sinking under JJ's skin – his eyes whispering silent secrets through the darkness. 

_You want me,_ Yuri's mischievous eyes laughed. 

Why had he been afraid of this feeling? This wasn't frightening. This was intoxicating. It was rubies sparkling under his skin – it was exciting. Love was the wolfsbane – pretty petals hiding the poison that would stop the heart right in its tracks, shrivel it inside of the chest until nothing remained except ash. But lust? Desire? They held no emotions. They were simple. They were safe. Temporary pleasures that could ensnare the senses, paint the world in a haze of beauty. 

He could see how someone could drown in this languid bliss. He could understand how people could grow addicted to this fire. He understood why JJ would chased after this feeling, again and again. This spark of hunger curling in the stomach, the sweet ache of longing, that flutter of heat prowling in his veins. He could see how how the tension could feel overwhelming, how anticipation could taste of exhilaration. 

The song came to a halt, those last, slow beats fading into silence. And a faster song began. The kind of song that encouraged dancing and laughing, feet stomping and twirling – and in a heartbeat, the dance floor was filled with bodies – hundreds of young people joined together to throw their hands up towards the sky and fill the night with their wild joy.

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuri saw Chris curl an arm through JJ's, pulling the other boy onto the dance floor, despite laughing protests from the dark-haired lad. The smile upon Chris' face was sweet as honey, innocent and serene. It didn't match the wicked mischief that brimmed in those spring green eyes, beneath that black sweep of lashes.

And then JJ was dancing amongst their group. Phichit was voguing and Leo was sort of shuffling from one foot to another while beside him, Guang Hong was bobbing up and down, more jump than dance. Beside them, Georgi's dance seemed more like karate moves, arms chopping robotically through the air, yet the smile on his face was all human. 

Chris was the star of the show. Strutting around as if he wore a coat of peacock feathers – as if his heart was painted with glittering golds and vibrant greens and that flash of electric blue. As if there was a crown perched upon his brow to match the bronze medal that he had insisted on wearing out, gleaming against his chest vibrantly. He was the Prince of the party, and everywhere the Swiss man went, there was laughter and cheers and shots – everyone was in pure celebration mode.

JJ danced near. Too close and yet so far away. The light caught against obsidian hair and threw black-rainbows against the strands. And Yuri kept sneaking looks. Admiring the way that the other boy danced – not with sensual hip sways or awkward shuffles – there was something all masculine about the way his body caught the music and cradled the drumbeat, as if he felt each note in his blood.

Could the others see the desire that flickered through Yuri's body? Could they sense it, like a cameo dangling from a ribbon curled around his neck? Longing carved into cold stone for everyone to recognize? No. He tried to keep it hidden, that bright flame flickering in emerald eyes. Savoring the strange, intoxicating sensation. There was something clandestine about the sneaking gazes, about feeling the warm appreciation in the eyes of the man who danced just out of reach. It was a pearl nestled in the closed fist of a clam - something secret and beautiful nestled in the heart of nightfall, where no one else could see. 

Desire was a falling star that they passed back and forth in the darkness, star fire silver burning in their eyes. It was a game. A sidelong glance from lowered lashes, catching the gaze for a heart-beat – and each time, it was a greater shock. A greater tease. And then having to look away – because to look any longer would be suspicious. Watching without being noticed. 

The air crackled between them until it seemed impossible that no one else could feel it – surely they could sense the heat against their skin, the lightning thrill against fingertips – surely they could feel the storm building beneath the rainbowed lights – the fire twining between two boys on a dancefloor until yearning felt almost like pain.

It was the happiest night Yuri could remember. Dancing until his bruised feet were aching and sweat rivered down his temples. Shots and mixed drinks and cascades of beer – the world was blurred at its edges, smudged colors and laughter that fell easily from parted lips. Christophe kept throwing his arms around their shoulders, snickering to himself, demanding yet another picture of all three champions – flushed on victory and alcohol. Phichit was always more than happy to hold up his phone, a flash fire through the darkness. Those pictures were their own exquisite anguish. Christophe's arm slung over his shoulder and JJ slipping an arm across his back – and the touch of the Canadian's fingers pressed lightly against his spine sent another sweet ache through his body. 

It was a strange, beautiful sort of torment. This illicit yearning that held its own fascination.

When it grew to be too much, Yuri made his way towards the bar, brushing away droplets of sweat that glistened upon his brow. Palms resting against the cool wood, eyeing the alcohol bottles that lined the mirrored wall – a thousand different crystal balls that held a thousand different futures for the men and women with approached.

“Vodka,” the blond youth told the bartender, who gave a sharp nod of assent.

Yuri felt the warmth against his skin, the way his blood seemed to stir – and of course, there was JJ, nonchalantly leaning against the bar beside him. Dark hair falling over his forehead in that familiar tumble of silk, the grey of his eyes darkened into burnt violets. 

“Make that two,” the Canadian told the bartender, and Yuri found himself watching the other boy from beneath his golden lashes, trying not to stare at the way the shadows nestled themselves against the hollows of his cheeks, the curve of his throat, the way the darkness caught against the sensual bow his lips. How had Yuri never fully appreciated his beauty before? How had he never truly seen it?

JJ's leg brushed against his own, steady and strong – and he knew the touch was on purpose. As close to holding hands as the Russian boy would allow. Anyone walking by would not have noticed the subtle positioning, but Yuri felt the touch as if it was a smooth palm splayed across his skin.

“I can't keep my eyes off of you,” came the low murmur, and it made something stir inside of his chest. A sweet ache that spread through his stomach, reached tendriled fingers up across his ribs. Gave his heart a sharp tug. 

It took every ounce of control to keep a smile from curling over his lips, though their edges still flickered upwards in spite of himself. He felt flushed with victory, success breathing courage into his bones and he felt untouchable. Strong. Fearless. 

“Of course, you can't,” Yuri teased. His eyes were jade-stars surrounded by golden lashes, and he couldn't help the split-second smirk. “I am the Russian Faerie. Even kings fall to their knees before me.” 

“Is that right, chaton?” JJ arched one dark brow, and laughter put a fever-bright spark in his sapphire eyes. His voice was low, provocative, “You want me on my knees?”

Yuri felt a flush of heat stain his cheeks, suddenly overwhelmed. He could tease with smiles and glances, yet flirtatious conversation? Such seduction was still far beyond his experience. How was he supposed to respond to that? 

Luckily, the bartender returned at that moment, shot-glass distractions set in front of him. He was grateful for the interruption. His fingers reached out to cradle against the cold glass of the shot glass set before him, and beside him, the dark-haired boy mirrored his actions. 

JJ lifted his glass in a small toast, and Yuri found himself staring at that mischievous half-grin that crooked the other boy's lips. “To gold medals,” the other boy said. “To dreams come true. To fairies and kings.”

Glasses brushed together with a sharp clink. Then they threw their heads back, vodka tumbling down throats, and Yuri had to smother a laugh at the face that JJ made – a wrinkle of the nose and a shake of the head, eyes blinking at the intensity of the taste. Yuri himself barely tasted vodka anymore – just felt the warmth.

There was a slight pause.

“You want to get out of here?” It was JJ's suggestion, a droll grin accompanied by a sideways glance. “We can grab some food, if you want.”

Yuri felt his heart slamdance again, his stomach fluttering with a thrill of anticipation at the idea of being alone with the other boy for the first time since that kiss.

“Yeah,” he said after a long second. “Yeah, let's go.”

JJ left first, and when he mentioned having other plans, Yuri heard Emil tease the Canadian man about meeting up with a lover for further celebration. No one expected anything less from the playboy. But the golden haired youth tried not to blush when Christophe turned laughing eyes towards him. Five minutes later, Yuri made his own excuses – feigning yawns that felt too wide to look natural. But after a round of hugs and a hundred more compliments, when his spine felt bruised from the slaps of congratulations, he was finally able to melt away, grabbing his jacket and stepping out into the night.

Yuri slipped out of the busy building, hands tucking themselves into the pockets of his leather jacket. Even with alcohol burning like a sunset through his blood, he still moved with feline grace – without a single hint of a stumble. He was at that perfect halfway point between drunk and sober, when the world felt a little blurred at the edges, yet he felt absolutely invincible.

He was pleased to discover that it was a lovely night. In the club, the bass had pulsed from speakers so loud, he had felt the drum beat vibrating through his bones. The heat of hundreds of bodies pressed together on the dance floor. Compared to such noise, compared to such heat, the outside world felt strange with a heavy silence that echoed in his ears. A cold spring breeze tangled itself through the night, brushing gentle fingers across his face, and he closed his eyes to savor the sensation for a brief moment. 

Although it was well past midnight, the world was still wide awake. A crowd of pedestrians criss-crossed the sidewalks, their skin illuminated by the bright neon lights of other open bars, the golden beams of headlights sweeping the night. Above them, the moon was hidden once more beneath the silvered shroud of clouds. 

A few doors down, he saw movement. And a small grin crooked Yuri's lips as he saw JJ leaning nonchalantly against the brick of a wall, where shadows had provided convenient cover. The moment he spotted Yuri, though, he pushed himself away from the building and fell into step beside the lithe youth, flashing a pleased grin that spoke of excitement, amusement, and that sparkle of fervency that turned his eyes into blue-kissed flames. 

“Are you hungry?” JJ asked, looking content to finally be alone. Yet he didn't look the least bit rushed to find privacy. He really had meant his offer for food. “I know a great place to grab a late night snack.” 

Yuri considered the question, then nodded. After a day filled with brutal performances and a night of dancing... His body was suddenly ravenous – craving energy and nourishment and warm greasy food in his belly. 

So JJ took the lead, long legs pulling them around the corner. Yuri wasn't expecting the crowd to grow thicker here – perhaps an event nearby had come to a close, sending its patrons out into the darkness, their gazes still painted with stars. And he definitely wasn't expecting the body in front of him to simply stop walking – so sudden that Yuri didn't have time to pause or halt in his tracks. 

Lithe body slammed straight into spine – both figures stumbled. Yuri cursed, grumbling as he pulled himself backwards, lip curling up into a scowl of annoyance. The body he had collided with turned in their tracks.

It was another boy. He looked closer to JJ's age – old enough to be drinking, but young enough to lack the steadying virtues of an even temper. He stood only an inch or two taller than Yuri himself, yet his chest was barreled beneath broad shoulders, and the thick brawn of his arms matched the rest of his solid frame. His hair was shorn close to his scalp in a cap of brown velvet and his eyes were the same dark shade of mahogany. There was a faint dusting of cinnamon speckles against his pale nose – freckles that seemed so absurdly youthful against the grown bulk of his body. The apples of his cheeks were flushed into roses – the kiss of alcohol still on his lips. Yet his gaze was steady, studying the pair with narrowed eyes. 

He was flanked by two others boys – one tall and lean with black hair tied into a tiny bun at back of his skull, and the other was medium height, more bulk than muscle, with a baseball cap that hid most of the strands of his shaggy red hair.

“Ah! Forgive us, gentlemen!” JJ's voice came easy, his lips stretching into that smile that seemed painted with sunshine. Always so charming. Always so friendly. “I'm afraid we weren't looking where we were going! You alright?”

The brown-eyed boy frowned. His words were clipped and cold, gaze shifting away from JJ and towards the blond-haired lad at his side. There was a sparkle of interest in those dark eyes. 

“Your friend needs to watch where he's going,” came the low drawl from lips of the brown-haired boy. “He could hurt someone, running around so reckless. He might run into the wrong people.”

He was speaking to JJ, yet his gaze didn't leave Yuri's. There was a long moment of silence before the boy added thoughtfully, “I think you should apologize.”

Yuri stiffened. “I'm not apologizing for anything,” he snapped to JJ, and the alcohol in his blood cast a harsher edge to his accent. His heart was already pounding louder. The energy of the night had shifted from celebration to wariness, and it's sudden contrast was dizzying. “I didn't do anything wrong. This _mudak_ ran into me.” 

“Yuri, let's just go,” he heard JJ's voice low beside him. “We're not looking for trouble.”

Poor JJ. He had used his warm charm and that winning smile to melt so many frozen hearts, to ease his way out of tricky situations before, yet it wasn't working here. He was finally beginning to realize that Yuri had seen from the beginning, from the first moment he had caught sight of that wicked glitter in the gaze of the browned-haired boy before them. He had seen that same spark in the eyes of countless young men back home in St. Petersburg. 

Trouble had found them, whether they had gone looking for it or not.

The leader of the trio stepped forward, brown eyes narrowed. Yuri held his breath while the boy closed the inches between them, fists clenching instinctively at his sides. Watching as the boy reached out with one slow hand, thick fingers brushing a golden strand of hair away from Yuri's glaring gaze, a gesture that was breath-taking in its audacity. The Russian boy narrowed his eyes even further, their green belladonna beauty cradling danger like a secret. Yet the boy in front of him couldn't recognize the peril that lurked in those wicked depths, the glitter of poison within.

“You should listen to your boyfriend, princess,” the brown-haired boy said quietly, and the edges of his lips were curved into an ugly little smile. 

Yuri felt JJ stiffen beside him, could almost feel the anger that breathed its way through the other boy's muscles at the touch. But he could spare no attention to the dark-haired lad. There was only one way this situation was going to play out – it had been an inevitability he had recognized in the first glint of cold mahogany fire. 

He reacted instinctively to the touch, his head jerking backwards away from those clumsy, roughened fingers. And Yuri did the first thing he could think of. He curled his lip into a sneer and spat right into the other boy's face. 

For a moment, the world went still. The second that stretched between one heart-beat and the next was filled with a heavy silence – as if every little sound had been bleached from the world around them. All he could see was that thick glob of saliva curling down the other boy's cheek, those mahogany eyes widening until black seemed to swallow their hearts. Shock and horror bloomed into something darker. 

And then the world exploded. 

A strangled curse erupted from the chest of the boy. But Yuri was ready for the large, meaty fist that swung his way. He had been waiting for it. He had seen its inevitability from the start. So when the brown-haired boy threw his punch, Yuri was already jerking backwards, out of reach – fist swiping through empty air.

Green eyes narrowed, considering and dismissing a dozen possibilities in the breath of a heartbeat. Punch to the throat? That would end the fight quick. So could a strike to the jaw – teeth battered together and brain slamming against skull – knees buckling as unconsciousness consumed. But it wasn't that serious of a fight yet. Just a scuffle. Simple and small. 

Yuri's own fingers curled into a fist, and he answered the punch with one of his own. Viper strike, knuckles aiming straight for stomach. Behind him, he heard JJ snarl – the two cronies had flanked their leader to take on the larger Canadian athlete. 

His punch brought him into the range of his enemy's fists – and time blurred together. It was a whirlwind of punches, grunts and curses, spikes of pain and rushes of adrenaline. Yuri's lips were snarling, but his eyes were laughing – excitement flooding through his blood.

Sometimes, he really loved this game.

Yuri grinned, sparing a glance towards JJ. 

For someone who didn't fight, the Canadian boy was handling himself well. The tall crony with the man bun was curled up on the ground, looking dazed – though he would be sporting a respectable black eye when dawn arrived. JJ was facing the second boy – the husky red-head who was suddenly looking alarmed at the entire situation. But JJ just looked angry – breathing heavy, fists already raised to strike.

It was a mistake for Yuri to take eyes off of an opponent, even for a heart beat. The brown-eyed boy leapt at him, fingers tangling into the fabric of his t-shirt. He heard a ripping sound and they both went down. His back hit the asphalt. A concrete punch across his spine that reached into his lungs and stole away his breath. Or perhaps it was the weight of the boy above him, legs straddling across his chest, one palm folded into a fist. He couldn't breathe. The other boy swung at his face. Pain. His vision collapsed into a field of spinning stars, and all he saw was white, trying to pull him under. But he couldn't give in. 

The Russian boy raised an arm to block the next swing before it could hit his face again, absorbed the impact with a grunt of pain – and lashed out with his other hand into the wide-space opening that was left. The asphalt at his back didn't give him enough room to swing, to push his weight behind the strength of his fist – but he jabbed out as hard as he could anyways – knuckles burying into ribs – one two three - 

And he could breathe again – the boy had reeled backwards – and Yuri scrambled up to his feet, his green eyes laughing. He wasn't angry. He wasn't afraid. He was a wildfire, reckless and insatiable, flames licking at his bones. Fearless. His heart-beat was a warsong and this was a dance he knew well. He had been breaking himself against fists for so long that his blood had turned itself into kerosene, just waiting for the spark. 

He laughed as the brown-eyed boy swung at him again – and his knuckles managed to slam right into that freckled nose – and there was a crunch of cartilage and blood smeared across those pale-blushing cheeks – a broken nose, no doubt. 

Yuri would have swung again and again – yet suddenly, there were arms wrapped around him, pulling him back, keeping him restrained, and instinctively, the laugh faded into a furious snarl. He struggled to be released from the grip, and a steady stream of Russian profanity bloomed from his lips to rain against the cracked cement.

“Easy, Yuri. It's done.” 

It was JJ's voice against his ear, voice rough and harsh like gravel. It was JJ's chest that he was tucked against, JJ's arms that had curled over his chest in restraint. The fight immediately faded from Yuri's slender body, the frenzied struggle waning into stillness, and when the dark-haired boy felt resistance break, he let go.

Yuri watched as the trio of defeated bullies scrambled to their feet, melting away into the gathered crowd with only faint curses slung behind their backs. He was gasping in lungfuls of air, and oxygen tasted burnt against his throat, tasted of copper and victory. When the trio had faded from sight, he turned to face the Canadian boy.

“Are you okay?” JJ's eyes were narrow, burnt violets filled with worry and still darkened with a thread of anger that Yuri had never seen before. His hair was a storm of ebony, disheveled and wild as it fell against his forehead. His lips were carved into a frown, and blood dribbled in a thin ribbon across his chin, spilled from a split at their edge.

The young man lifted one hand, index finger and thumb gently grasping Yuri's chin, turning the other boy's face from one side to another. His frown deepened, and there was another flash of anger behind those thick lashes. His hand shifted, brushing against jawline to cradle against Yuri's cheek.

“No,” JJ answered himself. His words were practically a growl as they rumbled from his throat. “You're not okay. You're bleeding.” 

Just above the brush of a thumb, Yuri's cheek was burning, sparking with tingles of tender numbness. Beads of warmth swelling over the bone, and he knew that if he were to lift his hand, red heart garnet would smudge the tips of his fingers, scrapped raw from knuckles and bone. It would be bruised and swollen before long, he could tell already. 

But he couldn't feel any pain. Yuri's heart was pounding in his veins, slam dancing against his ribs, and he wanted to throw back his head and howl at the moon. The alcohol buzz was gone, dissolved into the air with the very first swing – yet the adrenaline breathing through his body was dizzying in its own way. He felt as if he could take a swing and shatter the entire world. Like his fists could tear through the sky, pull apart the night and let the starlight pour from the cracks – a waterfall of silver to kiss their skin and bathe them in beauty. 

“I've never been better,” he told JJ, as he flashed a brilliant smile. Not a scowl or a pout or a sneer. It was a grin but it was bladed in its fierceness. Something feral in its wild glory, bright like a summer storms - wild and wonderful. Gunpowder ignited and reveling in its own fire.

The earthquake of anger seemed to soothe itself from those twilight blue eyes – as if the wild smile of the blond boy was enough to eclipse his fury. JJ stepped closer, and there was a laugh of relief bursting from his chest, and Yuri could feel the faint tremble through the larger boy's palm. Could sense that JJ wanted to wrap his arms around him tightly, wanted to bend his head and taste reassurance on his lips.

But muscles tensed themselves in restraint, and JJ didn't hug him tightly, didn't try to claim a kiss. Instead, the other boy merely bowed his head to brush his brow against Yuri's, and for a heart-beat that stretched into eternity, the same air passed between their lips and tangled into their lungs. 

Yuri reached up, his palm settling over the hand that cradled against his cheek – letting it lay across JJ's fingers for a brief, fractured moment that dissolved in a second. Then he took a deep breath and stepped away, hands falling to their sides. He had to clear his throat before he could speak again, and the words were harsh against his throat, as rough as the oxygen that gasped through his chest in battered breaths. 

“We should get outta here,” he managed, suddenly aware of the eyes upon them. Fights in public places always seemed to draw a curious crowd – and he doubted that Montreal would appreciate its peace being broken by drunk and rowdy youths. “If no one called the cops, it'll be a miracle.”

They slipped away, fading in to the crowd like their adversaries had done. And as their legs pulled them through the city, their shoulders were straight with victory, and laughter was on their lips. Even when JJ managed to hail a taxi that carried them through lively streets – they traded the wide, fierce grins of twinned triumph. Food was forgotten. 

When the silver cab dropped them off in front of a familiar building that tried to scrape its fingers against the sky – they slipped into the elevator. The air between them seemed to shift, one heartbeat fading into another, and that wild, fierce joy was fading. Softening. Mellowing into a curious quietness that was threaded with a thousand unspoken words.

His heart was still pounding so hard.

It was strange to step into JJ's apartment once more. Only a few days ago, Yuri had woken up on that couch, a headache pulsing behind his skull and annoyance flowing through his veins. Only a few days ago, JJ was still his greatest rival. How could the world have changed so quickly? So drastically? Desire discovered in an enemy who might be called a friend, a lifetime of work and sacrifice culminating into dreams achieved, and the taste of victory was so sweet.

He was the World Champion. 

It was almost dizzying.

“Take off your jacket, kick off your shoes and make yourself at home,” came JJ's voice as they stepped within. The other boy headed straight towards the refrigerator in the kitchen.

Yuri obeyed, kicking off his converse shoes near the doorway. Then he slipped off his leather jacket, and blinked down at what lay beneath. He had almost forgotten about the shredded remains of his t-shirt. Where fist had curled into fabric, and he had been hurled to the ground – ripping from neckline to hem until it hung from his collarbone like broken wings. 

The Canadian had returned, his own jacket shed and draped over a hook on the wall. His fingers were curled around ice-packs, cold relief promised in small blue bundles. Yuri could tell the moment that JJ noticed the shredded t-shirt – body stiffening as if tawny limbs had been carved from marble.

Beneath the torn fabric, there was a swathe of skin – mother of pearl melted over lean muscles – and Yuri flushed. Resisting the urge to hold the t-shirt shreds together with fingers to hide the exposure of chest and stomach, to hide the flash of silvered medallion resting against his flesh.. 

There was that flash of anger again, briefly visible in JJ's bruise-blue eyes – but it was quickly drowned beneath concern. So vastly different than the warm mirth that usually lurked there. And the Russian boy knew that JJ wasn't thinking of desire – he was remembering the fight. 

“Are you sure you're okay?” JJ's voice was threaded with tension, eyes searching Yuri's face like a man trying to find meaning in the stars. Searching for hidden secrets or concealed bruises – not quite convinced that what he saw contained the entire truth.

“I'm fine,” Yuri said, and he was proud that only a hint of impatience colored his words. He wasn't a delicate flower, easily crushed beneath a boot or a fist. His bones weren't spun from glass. He wouldn't break from something as silly as a minor scuffle. He didn't know whether to feel offended or gratified at JJ's obvious concern.

The sharp edge of impatience caught JJ's attention, and he seemed to pick up the message, accepting the answer without further inquiry. “I'm sure I've got a shirt you can borrow, if you want,” he offered instead, raising his broad shoulders into a shrug.

Yuri froze at the suggestion. It was the obvious answer to the discomfort of being so exposed, and yet the idea of wearing JJ's clothing seemed strangely intimate. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, thinking. “Okay,” he said finally. 

The Canadian boy nodded, waving a hand for Yuri to follow. Leading him through the living room and down the small hallway that held several doors. He pushed open the furthest one, and Yuri followed, hesitating only briefly in the doorway.

He watched as JJ pulled open dresser drawers, peering inside before sighing and pushing them closed. He headed towards the closet, swinging open the door and rummaging through the pile of laundry in a basket upon the floor. 

As JJ searched, Yuri contented himself with peering around the room, curious to see where the King might sleep. The walls were white except for the one – just behind the bed, the wall was painted a deep maroon. It contrasted beautifully with the black leather headboard pressed against it. Rumpled blankets were piled on the large bed, and he caught a familiar glimpse of orange fur curled upon them. Rajah was napping peacefully. 

Yuri's eyes flickered purposefully away from the bed, just as JJ returned to his side, cradling a shirt in his hands. The dark-haired boy reached up, rubbing the short velvet of his undercut. 

“It's been a bit crazy this week,” he said, and there was no disguising the sheepishness in his voice. “Haven't really had time to do laundry. This is the best I can do.”

It looked clean enough. Yuri grabbed the shirt from JJ's hand, fingers curling into red fabric. He paused for a long beat, waiting for the other boy to leave or at least turn his back. When nothing happened, he arched a delicate golden brow. “Are you looking for a show?”

JJ looked startled but he had the grace to blush, and this time, Yuri was fascinated by the hint of rose that brushed warm against those amber cheeks. He had never before seen warmth or embarrassment kiss the other boy's skin. It was something he would have to remember.

The Russian boy turned his back as JJ slipped from the room, grateful to hide the warmth kissing his own cheeks as he peeled off the tattered remnants of his t-shirt. Letting the fabric puddle to the floor in a shredded nest, forgotten. And he pulled the other boy's shirt over his head. 

Instantly, Yuri felt surrounded with the scent of him. An incense that seemed to be a combination of deodorant and cologne and a hint of sweat and a note of musk that must have belonged to JJ alone. His stomach tightened as he breathed it in, as if the other boy's pheromones were sinking under his skin, and his heart beat faster as he pulled the t-shirt down. 

It was too big for his slender frame – he didn't have JJ's shoulders or his height. Long sleeves threatened to slip over knuckles, falling loose against his torso. But it was better than nothing. And certainly better than the shredded rag that had once been his t-shirt. It was soft, at least, warm and comfortable. It would do for now.

He slipped out of the bedroom.

JJ looked up as he returned to the living room, and at the sight of the Russian boy, his blue eyes grew wider. His body went completely still for a long, slow moment, and the ice-packs in his hands looked completely forgotten. A slow smile grew upon his lips, appreciation glittering in his gaze. And Yuri saw something deeper buried in their depths – a brief simmering of satisfaction. The other boy, he realized, liked seeing him in his own clothes.

“Thanks for letting me borrow this,” Yuri mumbled, reaching up with slender fingers to adjust the collar. With JJ's broad shoulders and larger frame, the neckline was a little too wide for his narrower frame. On Yuri, it kept threatening to drape down over one milky shoulder, showing off the curve of his elegant neck.

JJ's eyes flickered towards the pearl of skin that was revealed, and it seemed to take a surge of pure will-power to tear his gaze away. To look instead at the Russian man's face, though he couldn't quite disguise the faint flush to those sun-kissed cheeks. The dark-haired boy gave a slight shake of his head, as if to dislodge his own thoughts, pulling himself back to reality.

“Here,” JJ said gently, his voice quiet. He lifted the ice-pack to Yuri's cheek, and the blond-boy hid a wince as the cold brushed its frozen fingers across the rawness of his wound. 

His eyes flickered down to JJ's lips, saw the broken edge where a knuckle had cut through, the split skin pebbled with dried blood. And he felt a strange sensation. A small flicker of guilt whispering against his mind, aware that he had pulled JJ into a bad situation. Yet it wasn't loud enough to overwhelm the stronger sense of awe. He felt the warmth of gratitude. 

For a moment, there were no words. How many fights had Yuri been in over the years? Too many to count. Until bruises and torn knuckles were familiar things, and punches seemed more like handshakes. So many battles, and yet he had always charged into them alone. An army of one, just a slender golden boy with only his fists for shields. Never before had someone charged in beside him. 

“You didn't have to jump in,” Yuri said, cautiously trying to pick his way through this strange field of thanks giving. “But... I'm glad that you did.”

For a moment, he wanted to reach out and brush his fingers against the other boy's scrapped knuckles – to honor JJ's sacrifice. He knew that the dark-haired boy wasn't a fighter, not like he was. JJ was spun from smiles and charisma, teasing laughter and the desire to warm the hearts of everyone he met. Yet the Canadian boy had shrugged that all away in order to wade into the fray, and Yuri felt a pang of guilt for being the magnet that had drawn trouble to them, for being the cause of the blood clinging to his lower lip. For a brief second, an apology tangled itself in his throat.

Yuri swallowed the apologies before they could spill from his lips. He wasn't one of those lovely girls that JJ seemed to enjoy – he wasn't spun from pretty smiles and elegant limbs and gentle hearts. He was broken beer bottles littered across asphalt. He was curled fists and messy curses hurled in the darkness. He was the snarling growl of a guitar, smoke curling through lungs, the shot of vodka burning down the throat. He was the full moon howling through the veins – the reckless silvered light that could turn every bad decision into a dream. 

This is what I am, Yuri wanted to say. A storm did not apologize for cracking open the skies. 

His chin lifted, and a faint little smile curled the edge of his lips. There was no room for guilt in this night. There was no room for anger, for sadness, for the shadows that tried to cling to the mind. This was a night for victory, for fearless wonder and fierce joy.

Once more, he studied JJ's mouth – saw its firm softness broken beneath a bloodied line. It was like gravity – some inexplicable force sinking under his fingertips, curling itself around his wrist like the string of a marionette. And Yuri's hand lifted, fingertips drawn upwards to brush against the split of JJ's lip. A feather-light touch that made the other boy grow still, made the world falter and come to a rest.

“Does it hurt?” Yuri asked softly. It was a stupid question. Of course it did.

“Not even a little bit,” the Canadian boy murmured, so soft, more exhalation than whisper. As if he was afraid to move, afraid to break the spell.

He felt JJ's breath warm against his fingertips, and the gentle sensation made him shiver.

After a night of sidelong glances cast through shadows, hips swaying and gazes caught, the air sparking with attraction – and now they were alone. The tension was swelling between them, and the anticipation was too strong. It crackled between them, dancing along nerves and causing the edges of the room to blur, dizzy and dazed. 

This time, it was Yuri who moved. One step. Then another. Emerald eyes glinting with determined purpose as he eased himself forward, the inches disappearing until he was just a breath away. Until he could reach out his hands, brushing them against JJ's collarbone, smoothing up towards his shoulders. A simple touch, and yet he could feel the tension suddenly coiled in the other boy's body – a trembling that mirrored his own. 

Ice packs fell forgotten to the floor, and then there were warm arms curling around his waist. Except this time, it was Yuri who tilted his head, who lifted his chin, who brushed parted lips against the other boy's wound. 

Something broke. One simple kiss, one brush of the lips, and it was lightning breaking through the night. Flash fire heat reshaping the world, burnt-earth transformed into glittering glass. A gasp tumbled from lips – did it come from JJ's mouth? Or his own? It didn't matter. All that mattered was the this. Yuri pushed himself harder against JJ or maybe it was JJ who was pulling him closer – clinging tight and drowning together – how long could a kiss last before they needed air? 

And suddenly they were on the couch. When did that happen? He found himself in JJ's lap, his legs straddling the other boy's thighs – and a rock of his hips against JJ's sent the world dissolving into ecstasy. Lips gasping against lips - a kiss that devoured, consumed, reached its fingers into his chest and stole his breath away. Turning him into ash. Embers in his marrow, flames within his veins – he couldn't think. All he could do was feel. All he could do was burn. 

JJ's hands traced up his back, strong palms against the fabric that kissed the ladder of his spine, and Yuri's hands were running themselves over the other boy's shoulders, brushing against undercut velveteen, admiring every inch that he could reach. Aching for more. JJ's tongue twined around his, and its warmth was heady – it was fire and champagne and adrenaline and he was reeling. 

Yuri tore his lips away with a jagged gasp and a wicked grin. His fingers wove into the dark spill of hair, those silken obsidian strands. He tightened his grip, pulling JJ's head back gently. Staring down curiously into the other boy's face. Drinking in his beauty. Those blue eyes staring back at him, cerulean sunlight shadowed and bruised with hunger. Burning. The wolfish smile that curved JJ's lips. Fierce and beautiful, watching Yuri through a fringe of lashes, his breath still ragged with yearning. 

He wondered if that was what he looked like. Lips swollen with kisses, pupils blown wide as if they had swallowed the night, dazed on pleasure. Drunk on the desire curling though the veins, a hunger so sweet it was almost a pain, craving more. Every nerve dazzled with rapture. 

Yuri leaned forward, head bowing to nuzzle against the curve of JJ's neck, scraping his teeth against the flutter of a heartbeat beneath his lips. The low groan the spilled from the other young man's throat was intoxicating, fire in the blood. It made it difficult to resist the primitive urge to bite, to leave a mark upon the flesh for JJ to remember far after this night was over.

His lips traveled upwards, hiding a mischievous little grin. His mouth paused above the curve of the other boy's ear – his breath warm and wicked. Yuri had never suspected that teasing JJ could be so much fun.

“JJ?” he murmured, cradling the two simple syllables upon his tongue, drawing them out smooth and slow. 

Yuri's reward was the way that JJ's breath hitched in his throat, a gasp that made his chest ache. The way JJ's hands tightened upon his hips, trying to draw him closer. He could see the way the other boy was trying to focus enough to form words, finally managing an eloquent, “Mmmmm?”

“How's it feel to kiss the greatest skater in the entire world?” He was laughing, a low chuckle to accompany the hand that smoothed itself down JJ's shirt – marveling at the firm strength beneath his palm.

“Hmmmm,” came JJ's murmured response. It was a sound that was half chuckle, half groan. He sounded dazed. “I think it's something I can get used to.” 

Yuri's hand traveled down the slope of JJ's chest, fingers tracing across the muscles carved into the other boy's abdomen, firm granite shrouded in softness. His palm slid lower, and when he rocked his hips forward, a twinned gasp tumbled from their lips. There was lightning under his skin – it was fire, he was burning into ash and never had he imagined that anything could feel this fucking good. 

One of JJ's hands shifted from his hips, reaching upwards to tangle fingers into Yuri's hair, weaving through tawny strands of gold to pull the other boy closer. Amber fingertips brushed against his nape, and Yuri's entire body shuddered. 

How could such a delicate touch in such an unexpected place cause his stomach to tighten, cause the entire world to shiver with a wave of rapture. He made a whimpering sound, fingers dipping beneath the hem of JJ's shirt to brush against hot skin. Tugging at the fabric impatiently, groaning as he felt the first brush of his palm against JJ's ribs.

JJ arched beneath him with a gasp. And then he broke off the kiss with a twist of his head, lips breaking apart almost violent in its abruptness.

“Wait,” he panted.

JJ's voice was harsh, a growling word that was carved from both frustration and resolve, as if he hated the word that spilled from his chest, yet knew it was necessary. 

Yuri froze, puzzled. Raising his head to stare at the Canadian boy as they both sucked in shallow breaths, clearly struggling to form thoughts and words. “What's wrong?” he asked carefully.

JJ's eyes fluttered open, blue eyes darkened into indigo, and he took in a slow, shaky breath. The exhale was an equally shaky laugh. Words slow and hoarse, as if each one was a challenge to pluck from his mind to send spinning from his lips.

“If I don't stop you now, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop at all,” he confessed, and the words themselves were edged in thunder, harsh and soft at the same time. “You've been drinking, chaton. We're both exhausted - I know you put as much into your program as I did. And we're both bruised and bloody on top of that. Not exactly ideal circumstances.” 

JJ's voice trailed off, and suddenly there was something in his eyes that Yuri hadn't glimpsed before. A wavering hesitation, as if the other boy was deliberating whether or not to share the next words. “And... We don't need to rush things.”

Yuri blinked once. Twice. 

“Don't rush things?” he repeated, as if the words were painted in a different language, something he could repeat and yet not understand. His brow furrowed, bewilderment beginning to rise through the lust that burnt through his blood. “JJ, tomorrow is the banquet. We've got one more day.”

“Says who?” JJ was looking at him, and his jaw was set in a stubborn line that Yuri hadn't seen before, something indecipherable in his gazes. Both resolved and yet challenging – the quiet determination matched the granite grey streaks marbling through the blue of his eyes. 

Yuri stared. He felt like the world was tilting again – the way it had last night when JJ's lips had brushed against his. Things were shifting and he couldn't seem to stay balanced. 

“What?” the Russian boy asked, bewildered. 

JJ's fingers shifted to draw gentle patterns against Yuri's spine, as if to soothe the tension that was suddenly vibrating through the branches of his bones. “We have as much time as we want, chaton,” he said quietly.

Yuri flushed, and confusion was a fever inside of him that tugged at his senses. Making him feel dizzy.  
Wasn't this what JJ wanted? The dark-haired boy perpetually pursued desire – he sought the taste of the pleasure against the skin, drowning himself in kisses and moans and endless silken diversions between the sheets. So why was he shying away now? 

Was JJ _rejecting_ him? Was that what this was? 

His cheeks flushed with humiliation at the idea. And yet... that didn't make sense. JJ had kissed him. Yuri had seen the hunger in the other boy's eyes. Had heard each catch of breath tangling in the throat, each low moan gasped into the night. That hadn't been his imagination. He could still feel the proof of that desire against his thigh. JJ wanted him. Yet... He didn't want him? 

“I never understand you,” Yuri growled, leaning away from the warmth of the other boy's body. Lip curled up into a silent snarl, suddenly wishing he could run away. Run away from all of these conflicting emotions that kept battering themselves against his chest.

Frustrated confusion sparked in the jade pools of his eyes. One glimpse was enough to catch sight of the distress that Yuri was struggling to hide, but the full force of his glare was obscured by strands of pale gold hair. “Every time I think I have your game figured out... You fucking switch things around.”

JJ blinked. “Switch things?” he echoed and it was his turn to look puzzled. 

The words burst out, spilling from Yuri's lips in a rapid fire rush of shrapnel, growing faster and more frenzied with each second. “We were rivals. We've always been rivals,” he snapped. “But suddenly, you helped me when I was drunk. So it seemed you wanted to be friends. But then you wanted to make that bet, and we were rivals again. Back to normal. But then in the hotel, you wanted to know me. You wanted to be friends. Then I thought we could be friends. And then you kiss me. So, okay. It seems like you want another fuckbuddy. You act like you want me, and then you don't want me? I can't keep things straight – I don't _understand_ -” 

“Yura.”

It was strange to hear the familiar name spill from JJ's lips. How many times had the Canadian boy heard it spoken by the other Russians skaters? Yet never had he attempted the informal name. Until now, tasting the syllables for the first time. The way his tongue slid over the sound, slow and soft – offered like a treasure unearthed from the depths of his chest. Soothing. Gentle.

Four simple letters, a name he had heard countless times before, and yet the soft way JJ cradled it in his throat... It made Yuri's body tremble. Made his teeth snap together to swallow the words pouring from his lips, quelling the wild fire frustration into a steady burn. He took a long, shuddering breath, struggling for calm.

“What is this?” The words cracked out of his chest, slipping out before he could call them back, a voice so soft and threaded with confusion, wavering with distress. “What do you want?”

JJ stared at him, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. He was silent for a long moment.

“You're like a song that I can't seem to get out of my head,” JJ said quietly, at last. His broad shoulders lifted in a little shrug. “You intrigue me. You act like you hate everyone, but you have the most beautiful smile when you think no one is watching. And... I like seeing you smile.”

The knot of frustrated anger dissolved into surprise, and Yuri's mouth dropped open, lips parting gently as he stared at the other boy. JJ was studying his face, and when he saw the confused fury soften beneath astonished bewilderment, his hands lifted. Arms wrapped around the slender young man, and somehow, Yuri was no longer straddling the Canadian boy's muscular thighs. He was tucked up in JJ's lap, his long dancer legs draped over the leather of the couch, blond head head nestled against shoulder. One strong arm curled around the Russian youthe's body. 

JJ's voice was still quiet, yet with his ear pressed against the hollow of the other boy's shoulder, Yuri could feel the sound. Syllables brushed against ribs, sunk their way through the ventricles of JJ's heart, slipped through lungs before tumbling from the tongue, so gentle and smooth. Gentle like the fingers that began to brush themselves over the tawny gold of his hair.

“I'd be lying if I said that I didn't want you, chaton,” JJ said softly. “But I would be lying if I told you that I wanted to be fuck-buddies.” Fingers hesitated for a brief moment over the silk of Yuri's hair, but after a deep breath, they continued their stroking. “I enjoy spending time with you. I want to spend more time with you. I want to get to know you, and I want you to get to know me.”

Yuri's heart was pounding again. Struggling to process this new development, this out of character declaration from the lips of the Canadian playboy. Trying to ignore the instinctive fear that curled inside of his veins, that natural desire to run. This was beyond the safety of desire. This was past the simplicity of lust, where the bodies spoke and hunger was fed, and emotions had no place. 

But there was a glow of something fierce inside of his chest at those words, a warmth so bright and intense that it overpowered the fear. It made him... happy to hear that? And that realization was just as bewildering. 

Yuri closed his eyes tightly. 

Why was it all so confusing? It hurt his brain and it hurt his chest and it was an unfamiliar environment that he didn't know how to navigate. Every time he took a step forward, it seemed, the earth would shudder beneath his feet and he would stumble to his knees. Every time he thought he knew where things stood, he realized how lost he was.

Silence filled the corners of the room, hanging heavy over their bodies. Yet as the minutes trickled by, that shifted too. As tense muscles began to unwind and harsh breaths began to gentle, the quietness lost its edge of intensity. Two young men lost in their own thoughts, yet Yuri did not try to pull away, did not try to break the embrace, though he knew that he should. He just listened to the steady drum beat of the heart beneath his ear, the idle caress against his hair. 

That part was nice. Surely there was no danger in admitting that.

“You like me?” He meant it to come out as a flat statement, yet it trickled out like a hesitant question against the fabric of JJ's chest. And Yuri regretted their sound as soon as they left his lips. It sounded so fucking childish, he knew. Yet he needed the confirmation. Needed the truth stated clear and true in the silence, where he couldn't confuse it any longer.

“I thought I was a bit obvious about that,” JJ's laughter was quiet as it threaded through his mind, velveteen softness to accompany the soft fingers trailing over pale gold. “I know things are complicated, mon beau. I'm not asking for anything - except the chance to see you again.”

JJ's hand suddenly paused its stroking over his hair. And Yuri frowned, eyes still closed, shifting his head to nudge impatiently at those fingers. He wasn't ready for that petting to be over. He heard a soft breath of laughter, and the Canadian boy resumed the caress.

After a moment of hesitation, Yuri's own fingers reached out, trailing across the dark ink that curled down over JJ's arm. Exploring each curl and whirl that branched over skin. A hesitant touch, as if tracing the patterns tattooed into flesh could be more intimate than lips pressed together, more personal than a name gasped into the night.

“What about you, Yura?” Again, the name was spoken with that low tone. That gentle note that tugged at his chest and made it hard to breathe. 

He knew what JJ was asking. Yet Yuri's heart was pounding again, feeling sheepish and wary, all at the same time. “What about me?” he asked, deliberately obtuse. 

Fingers haltered their petting once more, and Yuri scowled, peeling open one eye. “Fine,” he grumbled. There was a moment of silence while he struggled for words that wouldn't sound too foolish, yet were filled with enough honesty to satisfy the query. 

_You make me curious,_ he wanted to confess. _I want to know what dreams lay behind your eyes when you close them at night, when the nightmares are far away. I want to know what sound you make when I run my nails over your skin. I want to know your favorite song and why it makes you happy. This scares the shit out of me and yet I can't stay away._ But he couldn't say any of that. 

“I have fun when I am around you,” Yuri acknowledged hesitantly, hating the way the words tried to cling to his teeth, stuttering out on tentative wings. This felt like dangerous territory too. “And you don't annoy me like you did before... and... I like kissing you.” 

He felt JJ waiting for more, the silent stillness broken only by the throb of the other boy's heartbeat, steady and smooth. “Fine,” the Russian boy repeated, scowling again. Trying to ignore the whispering voice in his head that screamed for him to stop, demanded that he lie. Say anything except the truth, that painful and frightening realization.

“Maybe.. Maybe I wouldn't mind seeing you again.” 

It was the best that he could do. But JJ could read between the lines – or perhaps he heard the words that the other boy could not say. The unspoken thoughts dangling in the air – perhaps Yuri had traced them into inked skin.

“I knew it,” the other boy laughed softly, and his words turned warm with teasing. “You can't enough of my pretty eyes.”

Yuri growled, cheeks flushing pink with warmth, and he gave the other boy a solid poke in the ribs. JJ yelped, but even then, there was no disguising the pleased grin curled across his face. 

“Sorry,” the Canadian apologized in a remarkably unapologetic tone, laughter still blurred in his voice. But his arm tightened into a hug, and Yuri felt a faint brush of lips against his forehead. Fingers began to stroke against golden hair once more, and the Russian boy felt a sigh twist its way out from his body, a sound of contentment. 

There was nothing to fear, Yuri tried to tell himself. He had achieved his dream. He was the reigning World Champion. He had broken himself open in front of the world, and he had earned his victory with that sacrifice. He could let himself enjoy this moment. Enjoy this victory. Enjoy the drowsy warmth beginning to curl through his veins after a whirlwind day of intensity. Enjoy the luxurious pleasure of being pet by gentle hands.

A yawn curled its way from his lips.

Maybe... Maybe he could just see what happened. No expectations. No seriousness. Just fun. Surely that couldn't be too bad? Just... enjoying whatever happened. Maybe he could trust the warmth in JJ's eyes, fondness without the danger of love's poison kiss. Maybe... Maybe he could keep this taste of contentment. 

Maybe nothing would go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mudak - roughly means dickhead


	11. Maple Kisses and Secret Trysts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after his victory - and Yuri's entire world has shifted on its axis. Now, everything feels different. It's the last day of the competition, devoted to the exhibition skate and the banquet, a time of celebration and revelry. But he's distracted by JJ's blue eyes and wide grin, and this secret growing between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slinks in* Heeeeeey, lovelies. Rememeber meeeee? I wanted to apologize for disappearing - the real world got super duper intense, which forced me to put this story on the backburner. But I promise, I never forgot about it! So here's a nice long chapter as an apology present! Actually, this chapter was originally more than 30k words long, but since SO MUCH happens during it, I thought it would be better to break it into three separate chapters for easier absorption! So I promise, the next update won't take long at all, since it's already finished! Also, I apologize for the rustiness of this chapter. I haven't had a chance to write in a few months, so I'm all outta practice! Also... 700 KUDOS?! YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING AND I WANT TO CRY WITH HAPPINESS! THANK YOU! YOU ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL AND I ADORE YOU!

Yuri woke slowly. His honey-dipped lashes fluttered open, and the sleep-blurred world around him began to sharpen, details gradually crystalizing into view. He wasn’t in his hotel room. His mind was sluggish and confused, his tongue felt covered with a layer of fur, and there was a dull headache pressing against the walls of his skull. Yet in spite of the mild hangover… He was warm. Comfortable. 

There was an arm draped across his body, curled over his ribs to splay a wide palm over his chest. There was warmth behind him, the pressure of a body fitting against the constellation of vertebrae falling down his spine. His feet were tangled in another pair of legs, and he could feel the faint flutter of breath against his nape – a sound soft and easy that tickled against the fine hairs.

Yuri remembered being tucked against JJ's shoulder last night on the couch, his tawny lashes growing weighted as gentle fingers brushed through his hair. The sound of the other boy's steady heart-beat soothing across his mind. Exhaustion twining through the hollows of his bones, weighting down his eyelids. Sinking into darkness. 

How had they managed to sleep all night on a single couch? Bodies tucked against each other tightly, legs woven together, yet he could see where JJ's feet spilled over the arm of the couch. He felt a small glimmer of sympathy – knowing that the other boy couldn't have spent a comfortable night – but stronger than the concern was the glow of warmth fluttering in his stomach.

Yuri kept waiting for the fear to strike him. He waited for anxiety to whisper its way across his collarbone, sinking down to coil its ribbons around his chest. Waited for the flutter of dread to make his blood run cold, urging him to rise and run. 

Yet there was nothing but a drowsy warmth sinking into his body, like sunshine was kissing across the cream of his skin. There was only a strange sort of contentment blooming through his chest. It was enough to keep the worst of the headache at bay, urging him to relax and soak up this moment.

He wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t a dream, that he wasn’t still caught in the figments of the sleeping world. If it was all still a dream… Was it okay to enjoy it?

“Morning.” 

Yuri felt the murmur against his nape, a soft golden sound that felt like a kiss against his skin. The arm around his chest tightened into a firmer hug, shifting to fit their bodies closer together. He could feel JJ’s heart throbbing against his spine - wondered if the other boy could feel his own beating through his chest. He could feel JJ’s breath against his hair, and Yuri couldn't help the little sigh that tilted from his lips, a gentle noise of satisfaction. It felt strange to be held like this, as if his body was something treasured, as if JJ never wanted to let him go. Yet… He didn’t dislike it.

He shifted slightly, shoulder twisting so his body turned on the couch, until he was facing the other boy. Now, JJ's face was just inches away. Yuri could count every dark lash that swept away from his dusky eyes, still heavy and weighted down with sleep. He could see every sparkle of gunmetal grey, those pale moon bursts in a galaxy of blue. He liked the way the colors wove themselves around each other, watching the darkheart pupils flicker gently as they stared back. Eyes that could pull him in, pull him under, and it seemed like the most beautiful way to drown.

Yuri studied the straight line of JJ’s nose. He liked the way the early morning sunlight dusted across the other boy’s cheekbones, honey skin burnished with gold. JJ looked so beautifully disheveled – his black silk hair rumpled against the pillow, tumbled across his face in haphazard strands that seemed to fall in every direction. His jaw was shadowed, grazed with dark stubble that gave him a rakish look. Even the slight swelling and the scab splitting the corner of his mouth couldn’t detract from his looks. 

The rose blush of JJ’s lips was the color of sunrise stretching through the ambered skies. As if dawn dangled from the tip of his tongue. Yuri liked the languid smile that curved across JJ’s face – not a teasing smirk or a devilish grin that could send flickers of flame through the blood. This was something so sweetly unguarded, something raw and real. It was gentled from sleep, warm and soft and slow, and it tugged at Yuri’s chest in a way he couldn't describe. He wanted to see a thousand more smiles just like that one.

“You're staring, mon cher,” came JJ's voice. It was a low sound, the edges roughened with sleep yet amusement gave the words a smoky quality, a gentle heat that sunk into his veins.

Yuri didn't say a word. He just leaned forward, tentative and gentle – a slight breath of hesitation before he brushed his lips against JJ's. As if he was unsure whether it was okay to kiss the other boy without the pull of moonlight curling through his blood, without the song of adrenaline and victory urging him forward. He had no blueprint for this moment or this morning - this was uncharted territory that he had no idea of how to navigate. He’d never woken up in someone else’s arms.

He liked the chuckle that caught in JJ's throat, the way it seemed to rumble through his ribs before spilling from his lips. It was a pleased noise, something akin to a purr, all satisfaction and pleasure. JJ’s hand lifted to brush fingers against the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

“Good morning,” Yuri murmured when he finally pulled himself away.

“Is it morning?” JJ shook his head, looking moonstruck and dazed. Yuri couldn’t help the smug glow of satisfaction that stirred in his chest at the sight of the other boy’s face - the faint flush stained across JJ’s cheeks, his breath uneven and his words roughened at their edges. “I’m pretty sure I’m still dreaming.”

Yuri looked away, hating the way his own skin flushed in response. How did JJ do it? Sure, he had thought the same thing. But he’d never admit it out loud. If those words had fallen from any other lips, he would have rolled his eyes and sneered at the levels of cheese. But there was no mistaking the sincerity that glittered in the other boy’s eyes - and every word was velvet-rich with earnest veracity. JJ meant every single word. Yuri could hear it. He could feel it. And that alone was disarming, making it hard to meet the Canadian’s gaze - afraid that JJ would recognize the awkward shyness flowing through his veins. How the fuck was he supposed to respond to that and not sound like an idiot?

“If we were still dreaming, my head wouldn’t feel like it’s about to crack open,” Yuri responded, almost flinching at the sharpness of his voice, stiff with discomfort. He paused, and tried again. Softer this time, letting his lips curve into a faint smile of apology. “And I’m pretty sure my stomach wouldn’t feel so empty.” 

JJ managed to untangle himself from Yuri on the couch, and the groan from his lips was a complaint - tired limbs protesting having to rise. But he did pause to reach out, fingers brushing lightly through Yuri’s hair, pushing a strand of gold away from his eyes. 

“Stay right there,” JJ said. “I think I can whip up something real quick. You like pancakes?”

Yuri found himself leaning into the touch, marveling at how a gesture so simple could make his heart pound so hard. Affection came so easily to the other boy - soft touches and warm words and gentle kisses, offered as effortlessly as a smile. Yet those same gestures were so difficult for the lithe youth, foreign and unfamiliar for the boy who wore his leather like armor and his eyeliner like warpaint. He didn’t know how to smooth down his edges long enough to avoid slicing into others if they came too close.

But Yuri savored the simple touch now. 

“I like French toast better,” he admitted, even as JJ was drawing away. 

“I’ll make you French toast next time,” JJ said over his shoulder, casting him a soft smile. “As much as you can eat. I’d make it now if I had bread on hand.”

Next time.

It was a simple promise that made his stomach twist with a strange anticipation. It was odd how two simple words provoke such a warm little thrill inside of his chest, making the tips of his ears glow warm beneath his hair, a flutter of satisfaction unfurling behind his smile. JJ said it so easily, without a single thought. As if “next time” was so obvious, it was no longer a question but an inevitability. JJ wanted there to be a next time. 

He really meant what he had said last night, hadn’t he? 

Yuri watched as JJ made his way to the kitchen, moving with the stiff-grogginess of one still half-asleep. Yet the other boy opened cabinets, strong hands pulling out familiar ingredients. And moments later, Yuri’s nose could detect the delicious aroma of coffee. It was something he never would have been able to imagine before, this strange domestic scene with his greatest rival in the midst of it.

So why did it make his lips curve into a small little smile? Why did it ignite a warm glow in his veins, as if there was a gentle fire simmering against his bones? Why did it all feel so good?

He liked watching JJ move through the kitchen. Pouring coffee into cups, sprinkling sugar and creamer with careful hands. He liked the way JJ reached up to rub the back of his neck, fingers brushing against the velvet undercut while a yawn stretched wide across his mouth. The way his hand slide up through the tangle of his dark hair, combing through the wild strands, while one dark tendril held a rebellious curl. He liked the way JJ stretched, trying to loosen battered muscles coiled too tight. The lift of his arms that raised the hem of his shirt to reveal a smooth expanse of skin that Yuri wanted to follow like an old map, trailing his fingers like rivers along the shoreline of skin.

Yuri couldn’t tear his eyes away from the pajama pants that hung low on JJ’s waist, and he could see inches of skin flashing again – the shadow of pelvic muscles teasing him in a way that made his heart falter inside of his chest, made his blood spark ruby bright with appreciation. He watched Rajah twine through JJ's ankles in a figure eight, orange fur brushing against skin, and listening to the way the Canadian boy leaned down, the croon of his voice as he spoke to the kitten in French. And it made him ache. 

Soon, there was a clatter of pans and the sizzle of butter melting against heat, and Yuri could hear JJ singing softly to himself, a spatula held in one hand like the sword of a knight while he stood before the stove. The kitchen was filled with delicious scents - cinnamon and coffee and syrup, and it was warm and it was safe and beautiful.

There was a stillness to the morning, a saccharine sweetness he had never tasted before. It should have been frightening, leaving tendrils of discomfort curling through his chest. Yet, Yuri couldn’t seem to find the fear. There was no hint of wariness or apprehension. There was only a fierce glitter of heat. 

Yuri collected every detail and tucked them into the corner of his chest, protected by the cage of his ribs. Keeping them safe, knowing that he would unpack them later, examine them closely, savor their taste and sound. He would be letting the memories trickle through his fingers, relishing their soft beauty and reliving them time and time again. 

“Breakfast is ready,” JJ finally called when he had a plate full of pancakes - a tower of delectable deliciousness just calling their names, drizzled in ambered maple that begged to be savored. 

And Yuri finally tore his eyes away. He could feel the faint heat of a flush against his cheeks - embarrassed at having spent the twenty minutes just watching the other boy, wrapped up in his own thoughts and his own silent appreciation.

He unfolded his limbs and rose from the couch. And immediately, Yuri winced. Every muscle in his body was aching – tendons stiffened and sinews throbbing and even his bones felt raw. It wasn't surprising after yesterday. He had skated one of the most physically demanding programs he had ever attempted – every jump and every spin taking its toll, even on his athletic body. That wasn’t even counting the fall against the ice, gravity tearing his limbs across the frozen landscape. Then there were the hours of dancing, music weaving through his veins. Then the adrenaline rush of fists and curses, knuckles smashing into his face, pounding against the branches of his ribs, his back slamming into cement when the brown-haired boy had hurled him to the ground.

Beneath the red fabric of his borrowed shirt, Yuri could feel the tender bouquets of bruises that had bloomed across his milky skin. Dark navies mingled with blackened violets, hints of yellow edged with that sickening green – Yuri didn't even have to glance at them to imagine the rainbowed hues sunk beneath his skin after a night of triumph and violence. And then there was the bruise that couldn't be hidden - he could feel the swollen flesh of his cheek, and when his lips pulled themselves around certain sounds, the Russian boy could feel sparks of tenderness burst against bone. He could only imagine the vivid bruise that must be painted upon it.

Yuri ignored the aching protests of his battered body and shuffled towards the kitchen counter. He moved with less grace than usual, less like a dancer with elegance painted through every limb and more like a punk kid whose feet were weighted down by thick combat boots. But still, he made it to his destination, sliding stiffly into one of the chairs pulled up to the counter. His mouth was watering, his stomach growling in earnest demand. He was suddenly ravenous.

“Hope you’re hungry,” JJ said with a grin, waving an expansive hand over the plates laid out before them. There was steaming coffee and plates of pancakes, mapled syrup and cups of orange juice - and twinned ibuprofen pills resting beside each plate. The perfect hangover remedy laid before him. A feast fit for champions.

This was what happiness felt like, Yuri realized as he began to eat.

It was early morning sunshine pouring through the glass windows and syrup dissolving against his lips, and JJ’s warm smile over a tower of pancakes, sitting so close on the tall-bar chairs that their knees kept brushing together. It was licking his sticky fingers, arching a fair eyebrow and smirking at the faint blush that colored JJ’s cheeks. It was listening to JJ tell animated stories about his childhood, gesturing wildly with his fork. Like the time the young Canadian and his siblings had tried to create a feast in honor of his mother’s birthday, and they still couldn’t explain how batter ended up on the ceiling or the handful of eggs smeared across the floor, or how every surface became dusted with a snow-fall layer of flour. 

Even this early in the morning, JJ was too loud and energized - but surprisingly, it wasn’t as annoying as Yuri would have thought. It was kind of amusing, really. Perhaps it was the glow in his chest that helped to detangle the headache pressing against his skull, soothing away the worst of the aches in his body, sending energy flickering through his tired limbs. Maybe it was the grin on the other boy’s face, the happiness that crinkled the edges of his eyes as he laughed. Maybe it was the quick kiss that JJ pressed against the corner of his mouth when he wasn’t looking, lips tasting of syrup, sticky sweet and bringing a flush to his own cheekbones.

It was Yuri’s first morning as the reigning champion of the Ice Skating world, and in spite of everything, he couldn’t imagine a better one.

\--------------

Returning to the rink that early afternoon felt strange. The entire world felt as if it had shifted on its axis or as if Yuri’s center of gravity had changed. In less than twenty-four hours, everything he had ever known about himself had flipped upon its head. One moment, he had been an athlete who lived for the ice, who had only room in his heart for the sight of Gold. He had been cold and alone, a boy who had been thankful for the heart that had been carved from diamond - frozen hard and empty. There had been nothing to distract him from his goals. And now, Yuri was victorious. The gold was his. And he had been given something more. Something inside of him had shifted. Diamond ice had melted into rivulets of water. Something had broken open and was unfurling towards the light, and he had yet to fully discover what it was. The Russian boy just knew that life felt fundamentally different.

Yet the world around him continued to function as if nothing had changed. The hallways were filled with his fellow skaters shouting and stretching and laughing and talking as the competition’s victors prepared for the displays of their talent and prowess. Coaches were grinning or glowering - cameras were snapping in flash-bulb explosions until fireworks bloomed behind the eyes. It was the last day of the Championship, and the competition was officially complete. Today was for fun and celebration only, and the air felt light with revelry and laughter..

The world continued to rotate, the competition moved forward, and everything was different, and yet nothing had changed. 

The afternoon felt normal in every way, and that fact alone was bizarre. Yuri knew there must be a glow radiating gently from his pale skin, pearlescent softness to express this blazing tangle of joy inside of him. How could the world not see the flame-bright glitter of his eyes, the way they burned like a secret, fierce and filled with mystery? Or perhaps they could. For a brief moment, Yuri couldn’t help the self-consciousness that tightened his shoulders, muscles coiled tight and threaded with tension. Afraid that someone could peer into his face and somehow recognize the change within him - notice the echoes of caresses against his skin or the shadow JJ’s lips pressed against his own. Or notice the way the Russian boy’s eyes seemed to linger on one certain dark-haired boy from across the room.

But the glow of warmth was stronger than the self-conscious hesitation, and the tension melted from his bones. How could he be worried when he kept seeing JJ’s sleep-softened smile replaying in his head? 

The world continued to rotate, the competition moved forward, and everything was different, and yet nothing had changed. 

Lost in his own thoughts and those bliss-blurred memories, it didn’t take long for Yuri to prepare for his exhibition skate, to throw on his simple outfit and shrug back into his team Russian jacket. To line his eyes with a quick swipe of smudged kohl, turning his silvered-green gaze into verdant flames. It took longer to convince Mila to grab her makeup kit and help hide the vicious bruise darkening his tender cheekbone - but with her skills, the purpled damage was hidden beneath a thick layer of goo and powder. Rendering him from the disheveled punk and transforming him into a pale-porcelain prince once more.

“You’re explaining this later,” Mila told him as she zipped her makeup kit closed with a little more force than necessary. And from her full lips, the statement sounded suspiciously like a threat.

“Later,” Yuri promised before ducking away from her clutches and her royal-blue gaze that saw too much. And sure enough, he could see the thoughtful frown tilting down the edges of her lips as he ducked out of the door.

The hallways were clearing rapidly now - the exhibition skates had begun, and everyone was eager to claim a good vantage spot to enjoy the show. First were the handful of competitors who hadn’t won a medal, yet had still been chosen to present their skills. Next would come the victors of the bronze - men, women, teams, dancing. Then the silver. Then gold champions. Everyone would present today. And Yuri would be last of all.

Time felt achingly slow - he was never good at this waiting game, when minutes stretched into eternities. And the early afternoon felt more lethargic than usual. Yet Yuri couldn’t bring himself to spend the time talking to his friends. The idea of watching Viktor twine himself around his Yuuri, or listening to Christophe’s suggestive quips and ignoring the amused mischief in his pale green eyes, or even listening to Yakov’s last minute advice, gruff and growling… None of it sounded appealing. Yuri didn’t want to explain the nature of his quiet thoughts or plaster on a fake glower to hide the silly grin that kept threatening to bloom across his face or listen to the day’s newest gossip, whispered behind hushed palms.

Honestly, there was only one person he wanted to talk to right now.

So Yuri found himself wasting time alone. He peeked in on the exhibition skates - saw Yuuri spinning gracefully across the ice, as elegant as ever while the audience hummed in appreciation. For a moment, he considered finding his own seat beneath the dimmed lights, but there was a restless energy sparking against his bones. He felt like a matchstick striking against its box - there was a wildfire stirring beneath his skin, threatening to blossom into flames if he stood still for too long. So after a quick glance towards the ice, he forced himself to move on, exploring the emptied hallways that labyrinthed around the rink.

There was one lonely hallway and then another. It was a maze of tunnels and tiny rooms criss-crossing as they encircled the rink - larger banquet rooms for events and tiny dens for meetings, bathrooms and locker rooms - a myriad of spaces to wander through. The slender boy held no particular destination in mind - he just wanted to burn the restless fire from his aching limbs, and one empty corner was just as good as another.

Yet when Yuri turned into another hollow stretch of hallway, his heart slammed hard against his chest, faltering for a painful beat before racing forward, rapid and relentless. Ahead of him, he saw the back of a familiar figure clad in crimson. There was the undercut that paled to an ashen charcoal, longer strands of silk fell as dark as sable. His body had somehow brought him to the only person he wanted to see, as if his blood had heard the siren song of the other boy’s presence, leading him forward.

And from this rearview angle, Yuri couldn’t help but appreciate the broadness of those wide shoulders, the strength of the sinews that stretched across his spine, that trim waist that tapered into those long, athletic legs. His gaze lingered and savored the beautiful sight before him, a wide grin of satisfaction curling across his lips.

Yuri felt his own stride lengthen, closing the distance between them as quietly and quickly as possible. His lips parted to call out and capture JJ’s attention, yet when he got closer, the words that hovered on the tip of his tongue melted into silence, and he was distracted by one very important observation.

Wait…. Was JJ wearing… leather pants?

Yuri’s eyes sparked with interest, and his grin of satisfaction slid into a smirk as he crept closer. Yup. Those were definitely leather. They hugged close to JJ’s hips, yet they weren’t skin tight - useful if they were part of a skating program costume. Yet the black material caught the light, shiny and mouth-wateringly wicked, and Yuri wanted to run his fingers over them - watching to savor their sleekness, their cool softness, wanted to feel every curve of firm muscle that lurked beneath. 

Oh god. JJ in a pair of leather pants was absolutely unfair. 

“JJ,” he hissed. The dark-haired man stopped immediately, and there was no mistaking the wide grin on his face as he turned around to face the blond-haired boy.

Yuri spared a quick glance over his shoulder, scanning their surroundings. Satisfied that the hallways was completely clear of people, he grabbed the other boy’s hand. There was a door beside them, and he quickly twisted the metal knob, throwing it open. And even though the grin on JJ’s face had morphed into surprise, the taller boy allowed himself to be pulled within.

For a moment, a sweep of light illuminated the tiny room - painting brightness over brooms and mops, a sink pressed against a shadowed wall, a shelf filled with bottles upon bottles of cleaning supplies. His nose twitched with the faint odor of musty rags and harsh chemicals. And then the door shut closed and the world was dipped in darkness.

There was a beat of silence before he heard JJ’s whisper of amusement. “Fancy meeting you here in a place like this,” he teased, and Yuri flushed.

He followed the sound of the whisper, reaching out to brush his palms against the other boy’s chest. It had been an impulse to pull JJ into this little room - the desire burning in his blood hadn’t allowed him time to think it over or given him the chance to smother the idea. The need to kiss JJ was too strong, an ache that tugged low in his body.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Yuri whispered quietly in response. 

_I want to kiss you,_ were the words he wished he could say. _I want to make you forget everything except the sound of my name and my body pressed tight against yours._

He tried to shuffle backwards to give JJ a little more room, only to stumble against an overturned broom lying like tripwire across the ground. He would have fallen if the other boy hadn’t held him tightly, and Yuri had to resist the urge to burst into laughter. He felt JJ’s fingers pressed against his waist, holding onto each other for balance. 

“You wanted to talk?” JJ’s voice was a purr next to his ear, clearly unfooled. “That’s a surprise. Most people hide out in dark closets in order to - I dunno, make out or something.” 

Yuri felt the other boy’s laughter bubble against his fingertips, and he ducked his head to smother his own snicker against the curve of JJ's neck. Okay, he was busted. 

“Hmmmm. I thought you'd sound more interested,” Yuri commented, keeping his whisper pitched low and soft, barely a breath against the shell of JJ's ear. Every word tasted of smug amusement as he offered, “I can leave if you want.”

He felt JJ's arms tighten around his waist, pulling him closer. “Don't you dare,” JJ growled. 

But there was a chuckle woven almost the growl, and Yuri could feel the flutter of the other skater’s heartbeat. It raced beneath his fingertips, fast and powerful, betraying his excitement. JJ wanted him too. He couldn’t see the other boy’s face, but he could hear it in the velvet of JJ’s voice as he murmured, “They’re only on the bronze exhibitions. We’ll just be quick.”

“Five minutes,” Yuri promised softly, and he felt his lips curl up into a smirk. 

And then JJ’s mouth had found his, and there were no more thoughts, no more laughter. Every nerve seemed to short-circuit all at once - and all that mattered was the taste of JJ’s lips, and the sweet ache of need that swept through his body. Nothing else existed. There was only an electricity that stole the breath from his lungs - there was only warm tongue and harsh breathing - there was only this.

Yuri’s palms smoothed themselves over the other boy’s chest, shifting across his ribs to run along the firm muscles of his back. And at the same time, JJ’s fingers slid up under his team-jacket in order to trace circles across his costume itself. The fabric was thin enough that his touch was its own exquisite torment. JJ could have been brushing against smooth skin itself - leaving feverish desire in its wake.

Yuri pressed himself closer, desperate for more - and then they were stumbling backwards, JJ’s spine slamming against the door. The shock wasn’t enough to untangle their bodies or tear their lips apart. He felt possessed by a delicious sort of madness, consumed by this reckless urgency that scorched through his chest. But it was a desperation echoed in the touch of the boy against him. JJ’s leg slipped between his thigh, their hips pressed against one another - and such friction threatened to unravel him, tearing a heady gasp from his throat.

Every touch felt like pebbles skipped across water – Yuri could feel the echoes of JJ's fingertips rippling across his skin, and every nerve they brushed against sent a haze of warmth curling through his veins. Sparks painting over his skin like the fireworks blurring across the night sky, colors smeared against starburnt velvet. As if JJ’s fingertips were spinning a trail of stars across his ribs, a constellation of heat that he could feel burning through the thin material of his costume.

Yuri had been keeping the other boy's name tucked beneath his tongue, and it was a relief to finally let it fall, to let his lips curl around the twinned syllables. 

“JJ,” he murmured and he liked the way it burned the back of his throat like smoke, husky and fractured with pleasure.

He liked the way it made JJ's body shiver against his, fingertips tightening against the bones of his hips and drawing out a gasping groan that was quickly muffled behind clenched teeth. As if Yuri’s voice had reached into JJ’s chest to tug gentle fingers across his nerves – making JJ shudder, drawing out the most delicious moan from the other boy’s throat.

“Shhhh,” Yuri shushed him softly, though the wicked grin on his lips threatened to spill into his words. “You don’t want anyone to hear us, do you?” 

God, teasing JJ was just so fucking fun. 

JJ made a soft growl, and suddenly, his face was nuzzling into the smooth curve of Yuri’s neck, his breath flickering warm and tempting against the other boy’s skin. Yuri shivered at the sensation. He could barely believe how such a simple thing could spark such intense pleasure - could reach within him and make his entire body tremble. How the brush of those lips against his skin could send him unraveling, make his muscles feel slack and weak. How the scrape of teeth against his pulse could make him whimper, made him him suddenly cling to the other boy. He felt dizzy, as if he would have fallen without the hands sliding across his spine, the warm palms that kept him rooted.

Yuri was gasping, and he didn’t know whether he was pushing himself harder against JJ or whether the Canadian skater was pulling him tighter - he just knew his own hands had lowered to brush against the cool leather of the other boy’s pants and their hips rocked together to spark another flash of rapture. And then JJ was kissing him again, fierce and hungry and JJ’s fingers were falling away from his spine, moving lower. When Yuri felt the other boy’s hand cradle the curve of his ass and squeeze - the wanton moan that spilled from his lips shocked even him. 

And then came a noise that shattered the enchantment of their desire - footsteps in the hallway outside, growing louder by the second. And the brush of footsteps was accompanied by an unfamiliar voice, harsh enough to make them both jolt.

“I mean, did you _see_ it? It’s undeniable.” 

After the silence of the little storage room, filled only by their faint whispers and breathy gasps, the statement beyond the door was its own cold-water shock. It felt too shrill, too loud, jagged metal screeching like nails across the mind. The two boys froze, clinging to each other tightly. Barely even breathing. The spell was broken.

Beyond the door, the strident voice was dimming into a low murmur, and the sound of footsteps faded into the distance. Silence reigned for a long moment. They were alone once more.

They had remained undiscovered. Yuri felt the absurd desire to throw back his head and laugh, but he managed to bury his snicker against JJ’s shoulder. He could feel the other boy’s hushed laughter against his body, could feel the chuckle that vibrated through the Canadian boy’s chest.. Oh, what a delicious thrill this was. Sneaking around under the noses of everyone they knew - stealing kisses and trading laughter in the secret, forgotten corners of the building. Secret trysts that tasted of the forbidden - and the electricity dancing between them seemed to spark brighter. 

Tens of thousands of people were at the rink, eager to watch every beautiful exhibition. And here they were, the top men’s champions - making out like high schoolers in a supply closet. Praying that no one would approach. Yet somehow, too lost in each other to care.

“I think it’s been five minutes,” JJ finally said, and his voice sounded so gloriously wrecked, hoarse and edged with regret. But he didn’t hurry to untangle himself from the other boy. Instead, he left a slow trail of kisses across Yuri’s jawline, little bursts of touch filled with a sweet tenderness. 

“I think you’re wrong,” Yuri murmured, tilting his head back to expose more of his throat to that talented mouth. Could JJ feel the way his heartbeat raced against his lips, tasting the thrum of his pulse? He drew in a shuddering breath, his fingers tightening their hold on the other boy’s hips. “Time doesn’t exist anymore. Let’s just stay here forever.”

Finally, JJ pulled away, and this time, the regret spilled from his chest in a heavy sigh. “I’ll leave first,” he said. “If anyone’s out there, I’ll distract ‘em.” 

Yuri felt a faint brush of lips against his forehead, a kiss pressed directly upon his brow. It was another one of those easy gestures, so smooth and gentle, it felt almost second-nature. Yet its tenderness made his cheeks flush in a way that mere lust couldn’t account for. And Yuri was grateful for the darkness of the cramped closet that hid the blush from JJ’s eyes. He forced his hands to untangle their grip, releasing the other boy from his grip.

“Knock ‘em dead out there, mon cher,” It was barely a murmur, yet it was laced with such sweet promise. 

And JJ was gone - the door inching open and then sliding shut behind him, and Yuri’s body ached with an uncomfortable coldness. The dark-haired boy had left and taken all of the warmth with him - leaving Yuri alone with this aching desire, intoxicated on kisses and the memory of JJ’s shuddering groan. 

It took longer than Yuri thought to calm down his racing heart, to let the evidence of his lust fade away, to feel his harsh, ragged gasps smooth themselves into gentled breath. Yet he knew there would be little he could do to disguise his eyes - pupils blown wide with want, or the lips that still cradled the echo of JJ’s name, or the shiver in the blood that thrummed through his veins, electric and elated. Five minutes alone in a closet with JJ was enough to make Yuri feel deliciously wrecked - which was exactly the problem. Still, a quick look in a mirror would help him hide the evidence of his secret rendezvous and allow him to present a neutral face to the world.

Yuri let one long moment pass and then another, until the flush of warmth finally faded from his cheeks and his skin felt cool against his palms, and every breath was steady against his lungs. Only when he had gained control over his body did he finally slip away too. 

By the time Yuri managed to straighten himself up in a nearby bathroom, fixing his smudged eyeliner and smoothing down the errant strands trying to escape the plait of his golden hair - it was time to head down towards the rink. The silver exhibitions were halfway finished, which meant it was almost JJ’s turn to perform - and that was a show he wouldn’t miss for the world.

It was lucky that Yuri managed to find a decent seat, shoving his hands in his pockets while he leaned back, resisting the urge to kick up his feet. He was just in time, apparently. The ice had been cleared of plushies and flower bouquets after the women’s silver medalist had finished - and now the audience was ready for JJ.

The lights fell and the world was draped in darkness - the audience hidden by thick, black shadows. Only the ice was illuminated, swathed in crystalline blue light - and a single silvered spotlight following the familiar form of Canada’s favorite son as he stepped onto the ice, his hands lifting to trace the cross over his body.

And Yuri wanted nothing more than to kiss him again.

JJ looked like a rock-star as he took his place at the center of the rink. Those black leather pants that made Yuri think the most wicked thoughts, that tight black t-shirt that revealed the tantalizing ink twining down his strong arms. The eyeliner that made his eyes burn with cold blue fire, bringing such a delicious darkness to his usual crooked smirk. The short sleeves of his dark shirt showed off his tattoos, the black ink twining onyx tendrils over his biceps, down his forearms. There was a flash of familiar silver slung around his neck, matching the bracelets gripping his wrists - obsidian leather and silvered rivets, a black night beauty rivered with moonlight. JJ should have been standing in the middle of a stage, instead of the ice. His hands should have been curved around the slender neck of a guitar, sweat dripping down his face from the heat of a dozen lights, drowning in the screams of thousands of adoring fans

It made sense when the music began to play, the relentless drum beat and the thick growl of the guitars that spoke of rock and roll in an era of big hair and bigger egos, when leather and hairspray were just as necessary to success as power ballads and addictive hooks. 

It was perfect for JJ, who exploded into movement with all of the energy he possessed. These exhibition skates were the perfect chance for fun, the perfect opportunity to be outrageous and provoke smiles and laughter and gasps and tears, without needing to worry about rules or scores. Ridiculous costumes, exquisite movements, modern songs - all joined together to make the Gala exhibitions one of the highlights of the entire show.

Of course, JJ would be dressed like some punk rockstar stepped straight out of the 80s. Of course, he would be skating while his arms windmilled, miming the wailing screech of a guitar. Of course, he would be strutting across the ice, all swagger and sex under the cobalt lights, pulling his lips up into a Vicious sneer. The sneer couldn’t last for long, though - dissolving into laughter as his kiss-swollen mouth curved into a smirk. It should have been so fucking absurd - so over the top and yet… He was the center of the entire world. 

No matter what JJ did, he always managed to dazzle the crowd. 

Even Yuri felt dazed. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the other boy - even when he felt his own solitude suddenly broken. He saw movement out of the corner of his vision and heard the seats beside his squeak beneath the weight of bodies. He caught a glimpse of familiar red hair. Mila.

But of course, Mila hadn’t come alone. 

“We’ve been looking for you!” Georgi’s voice came from Mila’s other side, his voice hushed and quiet, yet pulsing with a low urgency that couldn’t be ignored.

“You found me,” Yuri muttered under his breath, still watching JJ. 

Great. He didn’t need to look at their faces in order to guess what this conversation was going to be about. He might not have been born with brothers and sisters of his blood - yet Mila and Georgi had stepped easily into the role of siblings. The moment Mila had spotted the ugly bruise blooming across his cheek, he had known he was in for an interrogation. He just hadn’t expected it to happen this quickly.

They couldn’t have picked a more annoying time to spring their questions, and Yuri found himself licking his lower lip - hoping his mouth wasn’t swollen with the shadow of JJ’s kisses. He kept his eyes focused on the ice and the boy who performed there.

There was a slight whispering gasp as JJ jumped into the air, pulling off a quad lutz with his usual style - more power than grace. Yet somehow, no one could ever look away. His confidence was what made him hypnotic - the easy grin on his lips as his body flung himself towards the skies - the dazzling height and the strength behind every jump, as if falling was an impossibility. 

Mila was reclining in the chair beside Yuri’s, her long legs extended before her, crossed at the ankles in a demure fashion that was laughably opposed to the fire that always burned in her own cool, blue eyes. She allowed the silence to stretch for one heartbeat and then another before she finally spoke.

“So are you going to tell me the truth?” she asked, keeping her voice hushed, but firm. “Why did I have to spend fifteen minutes of my afternoon, and all of my makeup skills, in order to hide your mangled face? Why did I have to field questions from Yakov about why you’re black and blue? He’s been in a foul mood all afternoon.”

“It’s not mangled,” Yuri argued. His protest came a beat too late - JJ was very much a distraction. It was annoying, having to try to split his attention. “And I already told you. I fell. Nothing for anyone to worry about. The end.”

Yuri wasn’t an idiot. He knew how to weave a true lie, sprinkled with enough half-truths to throw off anyone who bothered to search for honesty. He knew how to drip falsehoods from his tongue with all of the sincerity of truth. But with Mila and Georgi? It wasn’t worth the effort or the energy, not when it came to these two. They could be annoying - but they knew him well enough to recognize dishonesty. It was better to answer with an obvious lie and just let them concoct their own version of the story. 

“Did JJ fall into a wall too?” Mila asked dryly, her arms crossed over her chest. But there was a faint glimmer of a smile at the edge of her lips, revealing a hint of amusement. “His face seems to be a bit mangled too.”

Yuri felt a smirk flicker across his face, raising one shoulder in a graceful half-shrug. “Probably,” he said serenely. “He does strike me as the clumsy sort.”

JJ was hurling himself backwards upon the ice, picking up speed and his muscles coiled like a panther gathering its strength - and he was leaping into a back-flip. All power and grace - landing cleanly on his feet, and his face split into such a wide grin. The crowd screamed their appreciation, and Yuri felt his heart swell large inside of his chest, and this ache of pride was an unfamiliar sensation. He wanted to give a shout of encouragement or clap his hands together - but he kept them knotted into fists inside of his pockets.

Mila’s eyes were on the ice, and she gave a low hum of approval. “Mmmm,” she murmured, laughter curled like a purr in her throat. “Very clumsy indeed.”

Georgi sounded fairly panicked at this point, his eyes wide with alarm. “You were fighting with _JJ_?” he hissed. “That’s not funny, Yuri. If officials find out you guys were fighting… You can say good-bye to your medal. You could lose it all.”

“Georgi,” Yuri groaned. The other man was too gullible for his own good. “You’re too uptight. No one’s going to lose anything. Nothing happened. And even if it had, it’s not going to happen again. So relax, okay? I want to enjoy the show.”

But the show was almost over - there was that fierce drumbeat and the guitars were wailing and JJ had fallen to his knees in order to slide across the ice, fingers dancing over invisible strings in an outrageous air-guitar rendition. It was a ridiculous finale - and Yuri snorted, giving a roll his beryl-green eyes - while struggling to hide the grin that begged to bloom on his lips. He wanted to savor the sight of the sweat dampening that dark hair, droplets curling down his temples to streak across his cheeks - the way the black t-shirt hugged the carved muscles of JJ’s arms - the wild grin curving across his face.

It was perfect. 

Mila was giving him a strange, thoughtful look, but Yuri ignored it. Instead, he rose to his feet, feigning a yawn of boredom. “I’ve got to finish getting ready,” he told the pair. “It’s almost my time to shine.”

“We’re talking more about this later, Yura,” Georgi called after him, earnest and determined. There was no mistaking the worry that furrowed his brow or the frown of concern pressed against his lips. 

Yuri flicked his fingers in a gesture that might have been a good-bye - or a dismissal of the comment completely. It didn’t matter, honestly. He didn’t want to think about deceiving his friends right now. He didn’t want to think. It was a relief to slip away from them and head back towards those backstage rooms reserved for the athletes.

He wanted to remember how good JJ looked in those leather pants, and how sleek they had felt against the tips of his fingers. Yuri wanted to remember the performance - the way JJ had jumped into that backwards flip, silver skates flying over his head. Landing with that easy smile. He wanted to remember the taste of JJ’s lips pressed against his own, the way his body had shivered beneath the warmth of his breath.

But this was not the time to get lost in a reverie.

“Get it together,” Yuri growled to himself. He might want to daydream about JJ like some silly school girl with her first crush, but he didn’t have time for such foolish thoughts. He needed to find his coaches, needed fold his body into those last-minute stretches, fix any smudged make up and track down his final prop. It was almost his turn. 

Finding Yakov and Lilia wasn’t particularly difficult. But Mila hadn’t been joking about Yakov’s temper. The old man wore a sour scowl to match his taciturn glower - pacing across the carpeted floors while a muttering stream of words fell beneath his breath, jagged and fractured like broken stones pouring from his mouth.

Yakov was clearly still peeved that Yuri had almost been late this morning. Breakfast with JJ had resulted in a dozen missed calls from the raging Yakov, and his coach’s face had taken on a mottled, purple color when Yur had strolled in. Keeping tabs on his young student had been particularly difficult this week, and even a gold medal couldn’t sooth the tattered remains of his patience. But that didn’t explain why Lilia’s lips were pressed into a frown, why she leaned over to murmur something quietly into Yakov’s ear - something that made the older man’s eyes narrow into a glare before he stalked off.

Ah. That made more sense. Looked like they were fighting again.

Yuri shrugged his shoulders dismissively. Well, that wasn’t anything unusual either. His curiosity mollified, there was nothing left to do except stretch some more, trying to loosen every muscle, trying to calm the excitement thrumming through his veins. This would be his first performance as the gold medalist of the men’s division, and although there wasn’t quite the same pressure to excel - Yuri wanted to burn himself into the hearts and minds of everyone who looked upon him. He wanted to be unforgettable. 

Yakov returned just before it was time to head towards the rink, and Yuri’s lips curved into a smile. There was something traditional about this walk - Yakov leading the way and Lilia bringing up the rear, an honor guard for their star pupil who walked between them, proudly wearing the Russian jacket with his chin held high and a glow of satisfaction gleaming in his pale green eyes.

But weaving through the hallways towards the rink… It wasn’t what Yuri had prepared for. He had spent most of his afternoon seeking solitude, exploring lonely hallways and dusty broom closets. Yet for the first time all day, he found himself surrounded by the press of the public. With every stride of his long legs, he felt eyes flicker towards him, and as he passed gathered groups of people, conversations trailed off into silence. It didn’t take long for the smile to fade from his lips, for his golden brows to furrow and knit into a silent frown. 

Yuri had expected to be the center of attention after achieving his victory - the young prodigy who had finally conquered the world. And yet, he hadn’t expected it to feel like this. The gazes that traveled over him felt weighted and heavy - combing over every inch of his lithe body. Peering into his face as if trying to see into his soul, as if trying to comb fingers through his mind to pluck forth hidden truths. He had been winning events for years - and yet nothing had prepared him for this unsettling feeling. 

Was this how Viktor felt, wearing the moniker of Champion for so many years? As if the entire world was watching him, judging him, waiting for him to take a wrong step and tumble down? It was disconcerting. And it was enough to make Yuri’s nerves flutter with discomfort, made his muscles coil tense beneath his clothing, even as they arrived at the rink and watched another batch of plushies and flowers get swept from the ice, rendering it mirror-smooth and pristine.

When the last pixie child climbed off of the ice, their arms filled with trinkets, Yuri shrugged off his jacket and handed it to Lilia. He felt Yakov’s hand reach out and give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and there was no time to worry about the unpleasant weight of so much attention. It was his time to shine.

 _Stop thinking crazy thoughts,_ Yuri chided himself as he took a deep breath . _Ignore everyone and just skate._

The Gala programs were always Yuri’s favorite part of any competition. One wasn’t trapped by rules - it was pure talent showcased for the world to see. A glimpse into the minds of each competitor. A chance to be silly, a chance to be wild, a chance to dress up in costumes and dance to amusing music, to steal hearts and push the boundaries of the human body. When the lights dimmed low over the audience, it left only a glorious sort of freedom.

It was the only time he could be himself, truly himself, before the eyes of the world.

Years ago, Yuri had swept onto the ice with slashed clothing and shadowed eyes and the fierce, primal heart of a tiger. And he had drawn the audience into a land of desire and Madness, had showed them just how strong the Russian Faerie could be. The audience had learned to expect something unusual, something unpolished and yet still beautiful - something untamed and wild and yet something that would reach into the chest and set fire to their imaginations. 

Yet as he stepped onto the ice now, Yuri felt a flutter of alarm uncurl inside of his stomach, making his heart pound hard behind his ribs.

There was that strange sensation tugging at the edges of his consciousness, disconcerting and impossible to ignore. Instead of an arena of screams, howling cheers pouring from the throats of the audience he had thrilled only the night before - he heard murmurs. Whispers that hissed too quiet to be deciphered, mutters painted in curious questions. It formed a low hum at the edges of his hearing, like the pale, ominous thunder of an uneasy sea - and he took a shuddering breath.

The lights around Yuri darkened once more, dipping the world in black. The audience disappeared. And finally, there was blessed silence. When the spotlight fell upon him, it shrouded him in starfire silver. And that’s all it took for the nervousness to wash away. What use was anxiety when he was on the ice? Even now, it was his refuge, and when Yuri stood in the heart of this frozen diamond pool, the nervousness could not touch him. This was where he belonged. This was where he reigned. 

He was ready.

Yuri knew that he made a striking picture against the bright pearl of the ice. There was a top hat pulled low over his brow, the elegant darkness broken by a thick swatch of fabric at its base - black and white stripes that branched upwards towards the ceiling. The brim of the hat cast deep shadows across his sharp cheekbones, and a crooked smile tilted his lips. The jacket he wore was a deep scarlet, trimmed in gold - its twinned tails falling down the backs of his thighs. He lifted one hand to trace fingers over its double lapel - edged in a black fur so thick and long, it almost looked like a fringe of feathers. His slender legs were clad in leggings that could have been a second skin - black and white stripes climbing up his thighs. 

The music began. Those first notes of an accordion stretching like bubblegum, spinning visions of carousel horses painted and chipped, of golden lights flaring like a banner of stars, of teeth sinking into carameled apples and cotton candy dissolving against the tongue. Yuri began to move, slow and languid. Yet there was a drum beat in the background - the sound of a beating heart, pounding too hard, too quick. And his movements quickened to match its pace. 

Yuri was the ringmaster with the cheshire cat smile, here to put on a show. Here to delight and here to dismay. Waving one hand in invitation, fingers curling towards his palm - beckoning. Teasing. A promise in his eyes. _Follow me,_ his body said, slipping easily into the step sequence he had practiced. _I’ll give you something you’ll never forget. I’ll give you the greatest show on earth._

He leapt into a double loop, then a double toe - landing smooth and easy, that wicked grin still clinging to his face.

The violins jumped in - their haunting wails screeching through the air. And the carnival call transformed into something eerie - something wild. Frantic. Shadows dancing under the big top, nightmares cradled in the ring. The lights swept around him, painting the ice in rusted reds. The circus show had become the Bazaar of the Bizarre. A dark carnival, fringed with the thread of madness - a Wonderland eclipsed with the beautifully grotesque and the hauntingly divine.

He glided across the ice in a spread eagle, the toes of his skates pointed in opposite directions, giving the audience a long, last view of the Ringmaster in all of his glory, feeling the smirk settle against his lips. Yuri’s hands ran over the fur trim of his lapels, and as they smoothed lower, he unfastened the buttons. All it took was a gentle shrug, and the crimson jacket fell from his shoulders, his palms splayed out at his sides. He twisted, and in a heartbeat, Yuri had whipped the jacket off of his body, hurling it towards the rinkboard. 

Now, Yuri was clad in two-tone. A long-sleeved white shirt, dipping down into those thin black-and-white leggings. He ran his finger over the rim of his hat, and in a smooth movement, he had pulled it off of his head - a quick flick of his wrist sent the hat flying to the far side of the ice to join the scarlet puddled jacket. The ringmaster had disappeared with all of his confident bravado, all of his smirking, all of his dark beauty and siren call. 

The light above Yuri’s head shifted. The reds darkening into rich, deep blues. Now, the drums and the wild accordion faded, and for a brief, frozen heartbeat - there was silence. The world was still, a breath held against within the ribcage. Then, came the violins once more. No longer wild and screeching, but strings that plucked pure notes from the darkness, music woven from moonlight. The gentle piano, fingers pressing lightly against ivory. Serene, yet cradling a world of sadness.

Now, Yuri was the show itself. When he leapt into a triple axel, he was the trapeze artist diving through the air, learning to fly without wings. When he tucked himself down into a sit spin, he was the acrobat, twisting the body with utter precision to perform the most stunning feats. Every movement was supple. Every sweeping curve of his arms was reminiscent of his ballet training - graceful and pliant, a daydream in the form of a boy. No one could look away.

 _I give myself to you,_ his body said with every impossibly beautiful movement. _Take everything I am, everything I have to offer, if it means you’ll love me._

His long leg extended, pulled up above his head, and Yuri’s fingers curled around the silver of his skate. The elegance of his Biellmann spins made hearts stir with wonder - and he knew that his body was painting such a beautiful picture. He spun like a tiny ballerina doll in the heart of a jewelry box, frozen in the spotlight. On display for all to see. Trapped under their eyes, a dancer who existed to please, created to spin beauty from nothing under the demanding gaze of an entire world.

What a lonely existence, the music said with such heart-wrenching melancholy. The trapeze artist destined to sail across the heads of every other mortal, destined to fly alone. The acrobat who folded his origami limbs into such painful, inhuman contortions, forever a spectacle, a permanent source of amusement. The frozen dancer trapped within a prison of wood, doomed to dance to the same song for eternity. Wasn’t this beautiful? Or was this a nightmare? The line between the two seemed faint and fading.

Yuri ended in a flourish of violins, arms extended towards the sky, once more the frozen ballerina. His body was aching, his cheeks flushed with warmth, sweat glistening across his brow. And he smiled with pride as he heard the first accolades. The applause was generous enough as he took his bows. 

Yet when he straightened and his silver skates took him towards the rinkboard once more, Yuri couldn't help but hear the low murmurs once more. 

It was a strange sound - faint whispers curling at the edges of his hearing, enough to make the hair on his arms stand straight up. He was used to cheers - screams and cries and endless applause. But these murmurs held something new, something unfamiliar. Uncomfortable. 

Yuri stepped off of the ice, reaching towards the skate-guards held like an offering in his coach’s hands. Surprisingly, Yakov’s face wasn't beaming with pride. His heavy brow was furrowed, a frown chiseled upon his face. It echoed the tension carving fine wrinkles into Lilia’s milky skin, her thin lips pressed into a straight lines. They didn’t look proud. They looked… Strained. Wary. This looked different than the anger he had seen earlier. Or perhaps it was the same anger morphed into a different expression.

“What’s wrong?” Yuri felt his feet root themselves to the ground. His heart whiplashed against his chest. Dread tasted like burnt pennies, and he couldn’t deny this sickening certainty any longer. Something wasn’t right. 

“Don’t ask questions,” Lilia snapped in their native tongue, and although her words were quiet, their sharp edges made his chest ache again - and dread melted into the first cold tendrils of fear. Her gaze flickered around them. Perhaps she felt the hundreds of eyes upon them, the curiosity of a thousand strangers pressing suffocating fingers against their throats. Her lips curved upwards into a smile, frigid but brittle - and so incredibly false. “We’re leaving,” she murmured around that frozen smile.

Yakov’s voice pitched itself into a low rumble, an earthquake crumbling within his barrel chest, “For the love of God, Yura… Don’t argue and just listen for once.” Every word was terse, taut with a friction that rubbed against the boy’s nerves like sandpaper, scraping him raw. 

“Alright,” Yuri said quietly. 

No one stepped towards them as they left the rinkside and approached the hallway. He knew what he looked like, draped once more in his team Russia jacket - the black hoodie beneath pulled up over his head. Yuri’s face was kept blank and cold, his chin tilted high. An Imperious prince, flanked by his coaches like guards. Beyond the reach of mere mortals. 

No one could see the terror that was boomeranging within his chest.

It was strange to be avoiding the cameras and eager reporters after an exhibition skate. It was odd, not being approached by his fellow skaters, to feel their palms land congratulatory slaps against his spine. 

It was the loneliest walk that Yuri could remember. 

And there was an ache in his chest when he caught a glimpse of that familiar red jacket, the spilled ink darkness of raven black hair. JJ stood off to the side, standing beside Sueng-gil - and his eyes were flared wide. The Canadian boy looked stricken, worry scrawled across every feature of his beautiful face. 

JJ’s lips parted automatically and Yuri knew that they were curling themselves around whispered words that would be offered like a secret lifeline - a message in a bottle crossing stormy seas -

But Yuri didn’t catch the words. Yakov had stepped forward to walk at his side - and JJ was lost behind the gruff form of his coach. Now, the old man was speaking, commanding Yuri’s attention. 

“Georgi will bring your stuff later,” Yakov said dourly as he led the trio through the familiar hallways sectioned off for the competing athletes, sweeping past the small rooms that held duffle bags and equipment, tennis shoes and clothing. They didn’t stop to grab Yuri’s things. They didn’t slow their march.

Like a celebrity trying to avoid paparazzi, Yakov lead them out a back door. And Yuri wasn’t surprised at all to find a taxi waiting for them.

The drive back to the hotel was a strange one. The taxi car was filled with a silence that pressed thickly against the glass windows, and the air itself felt stale and heavy. Yuri could feel the tension between them, growing stronger with every passing moment. There was wrongness to the air that made his heart pound behind his ribs with a sickening dread, souring against his tongue and pressing into his lungs like water. Something bad had happened - something too bad to be mentioned before his Exhibition skate. Yet neither Lilia nor Yakov would answer any questions.

But back in Yuri’s hotel room, the trio settled into place. Yakov collapsed heavily into one of the chairs tucked beside the cramped little table. He motioned for Yuri to take the other, while Lilia perched primly on the edge of the nearest bed, pointedly ignore the piles of messy clothes haphazardly thrown across the floor. 

“Okay, tell me what’s wrong,” Yuri spoke up instantly, unable to bear this heavy unease any longer. “Is it my mother? Is she okay? Did her nurse call you?” 

It was the worst thing he could think of. The only thing that could account for the way Yakov’s brow was drawn so close together, the wrinkles etched deep into his furrowed forehead. It was the only way he could think of to explain the strange expression in Lilia’s cool green eyes - the apprehension that mingled with sadness - a strange combination he had never seen painted across her usually composed face. 

After his grandfather had passed, this had become one of Yuri’s worst fears. The idea that he would be across the planet, lost in the world of competition - only to discover that his mother was gone. To have lost the last person in the universe who shared his blood. To truly be alone in this large, dark world.

“She’s fine, Yuri,” Lilia spoke up, quick to put that fear to rest. Yet the apprehension in her eyes did not ease. If anything, it seemed to grow stronger.

Three simple words, and yet they brought a wave of relief that made his legs feel week, made him want to sob aloud in pure gratitude. The worst hadn’t happened. Yuri allowed himself a single shuddering sigh. His heart was beating so fast, adrenaline growing stronger with every silent moment. The tension was still growing. His eyes swept from Lilia’s face back to Yakov’s, his tawny lashes narrowing into a frustrated growl.

“Is anyone going to tell me what the fuck is going on?” 

Yakov’s fist was curled around the familiar form of a phone, and at the outburst that clawed its way out from the younger man’s throat, he simply slid the phone across the table. Yuri grabbed it in slender fingers with all of the wariness that one might use to cradle a grenade in the palm. It was a video. He frowned, arching a golden brow up at the older man.

“Play it,” came the scratchy growl of the older man's voice. Tension was threaded through Yakov’s muscles, coiled tight within the squared stiffness of his shoulders. 

Yuri hit that white arrow that meant play. The video began, a blur of darkness and unfamiliar voices laughing and a shaky camera. Someone was determined to immortalize a drunken night of adventures. Yet he didn’t recognize any of the voices or the faces that swam into focus. But suddenly, the camera twitched – the filmer gave a gasp of surprise – and swiveled in a new direction to focus on a surprising subject.

It was Yuri. Standing on the streets of Montreal, nose to nose with that punk kid who had provoked him last night. He heard the snarled syllables passing between them, and before he could blink, a fist was drawn back and launched at his face. 

It was a blur of punches, curses – the sickening noise of bone against flesh, fists sinking into sinew. He saw the punch that knocked back JJ's head, the one that left blood blooming across his lip. From this angle, he could actually watch JJ draw back his arm and in one powerful eruption of his muscles, send a punch right in the face of his foe – knocking him right to the ground. In the background, Yuri saw himself on the ground – the brown-eyed boy straddling his waist, fist to the face.

“So?” Yuri found himself asking, and this time, both of his eyebrows were raised as he spared a glance at Yakov. Fights were nothing new, not with him. It wasn't the best behavior for a Champion, yet it didn't explain the grim set to Yakov's eyes, the tightness of his jaw.

“Keep watching,” the old man said, through gritted teeth.

Yuri dropped his eyes with a sigh. Watching on the screen as he punched his enemy away, as he rose to his feet, as he broke the other boy's nose. He watched as JJ approached, slid an arm over his chest, pulled him away from the brown-eyed boy. He watched as the trio of beaten bullies scrambled away, disappearing into the gathered crowd. Yet the video kept playing. 

His heart began to pick up speed, raceraceracing against his breastbone and suddenly, gravity felt too heavy, tugging at his body until every movement felt weighted, until it felt as if he had tripped over his own feet and was falling, crashing to the earth. His blood stiffened, drained of its fire and replaced with a frosted chill. He felt drenched in cold.

Suddenly, Yuri knew exactly what he was going to see.

And there it was. The aftermath. There was JJ, looking furious and alarmed as he peered for bruises on Yuri's face. There was the hand that raised, one strong hand pressed against his cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath the smudge of the bruise. There was the fury glimmering in fierce blue eyes, and the wild-fire grin from Yuri’s lips. There was JJ's head bowing.

They stood, two boys in the darkness, their foreheads pressed together while their lashes formed crescents against their cheeks. Gasping for breath, their lips only inches apart. JJ's fingers curling across his face, his palm pressed tenderly against the bruised cheekbone. Yuri's own hand reaching upwards to lay against the other boy's fingers.

It couldn't have lasted more than thirty-seconds, and yet, the tenderness in those gestures, the intimacy that lay within those twinned touches... It was damning enough to take his breath away. Who else but lovers would touch like that?

Yuri’s heart was pounding hard against his chest. 

Fear twined with an anger that startled him. He wanted to curl his fingers around that phone and throw it against the wall – wanted to hear that satisfying crunch of shattered metal and broken glass as it rained in pieces upon the floor. As if he could erase that moment of tenderness beneath a display of violence, as if he could rip if from their hands and shred it from their eyes.

 _That's not for you,_ Yuri wanted to scream at Yakov and Lilia. At all of them. _That was my moment. That was my night. Not for your eyes. Or anyone else._

“Yuroschka,” Yakov's voice was a rumble, the sound of whiskey burning against the tongue, rusted “What is going on between you and that boy?”

It was instinct that made him lie, and the dishonesty tasted just like dread - a rancid-sour bitterness that threatened to choke him.

“Nothing is going on,” Yuri said, keeping his face carefully blank. It took every ounce of effort to drain the terrified fury from his voice, to flavor every word with exasperated boredom. He lifted his chin, his lashes falling low over the cold glass of his eyes. “We walked home together. There was a fight. I got hurt. He was making sure it wasn’t worse than it was. That’s it.”

Lilia spoke up, sounding exasperated and tired. “This isn’t the time for lies, Yura. If we want to lessen the damage this video could do - you need to tell us everything. We need to move quickly.”

Yakov reached up, pinched the bridge of his nose between his thick fingers, and the sigh from his chest sounded more like a growl, angry disappointment to mirror the exhaustion in his ex-wife’s voice. “I didn’t think I needed to warn you about things like this. I thought you knew better. That boy is nothing but trouble.”

“His name is JJ!” The snarl burst out from Yuri’s chest with a ferocity that shocked them all, all bared teeth and frustration. It was a mistake, a moment of weakness. It was a confession bared in four simple words, a secret untangled and spilled across the floor with an ugly, stark honesty. Yuri had never defended JJ from anyone before, let alone with a fury-painted vehemence. 

He felt trapped. He felt sick. The secret was out and everyone knew. It went beyond Yakov and Lilia with their angry concern - now, he knew the cause of the murmurs that had woven through his ears back at the rink. Now, Yuri knew what had weighted the curious gazes of the people around him, heavy with inquisitive interest. Now he remembered the stricken expression in JJ’s eyes as Yakov had escorted him past - afraid, worried, filled with apprehension. It all made perfect fucking sense.

Everyone knew now.

Dread was a steady drip through his veins, and it felt as if the small room was filling up with water. Like fear was the steel wrapped around his ankle, an anchor pulling him down beneath the waves and when he opened his mouth to scream, all he could breathe was the sea.

“What about Viktor?” Yuri asked weakly. “He has Yuuri, and no one bats an eye. Mila has Sara. I don’t remember you guys ever sitting them down to talk.”

Yakov closed his eyes tightly at that, and there was a weariness woven through his voice that Yuri hadn't heard before. He had spent years memorizing the exhausted exasperation that often stained the old man's growl – but this was different. This was disappointment and sad frustration and a tiredness that curled its roots into the marrow of his aged bones – shoulders slumped as if they had carried twice as many years during his lifetime.

“Viktor was already a legend before he met Yuuri,” the old man sighed. “Anything that happened before that... Viktor kept it behind closed doors. Just like Mila does. They both understand the importance of discretion.”

Viktor? Discreet? This was perhaps one of the most laughable comments Yuri had ever heard. Viktor - who had dropped his entire career in order to coach and pursue Katsudon without any warning. The same man who tore off his clothing every time the alcohol in his bloodstream rose too high? The one who could spend whole hours rhapsodizing about his fiance’s perfections? _Viktor_ was being heralded as the example of discretion? 

Yuri snorted in disbelief, and the sound caused Yakov’s jaw to tighten beneath clenched teeth. The exhaustion-slumped shoulders rapidly straightened themselves, and suddenly, his coach’s face contained all of the frustrated anger that Yuri was used to. There was a flush flourishing over his neck, spreading reddened fingers over his jawline, darkening his ears. And there was a familiar twitch of muscles in the older man’s cheek - a sign that he was rapidly losing all shreds of patience. 

Yakov pointed one thick fingers towards the phone, where the screen still gleamed with the bright image of Yuri's reckless choices. “That is not discreet!”

Lilia cleared her throat, a gentle sound that nevertheless held a great deal of weight. It was enough to cause Yakov’s jaw to snap shut, yellowed teeth clenching together with the force of his irritation. He took a deep breath, arms crossed over his chest. The sound was enough to capture Yuri’s attention, and he looked towards the woman, searching her face for some sort of comfort, some sort of sign that maybe she would understand.

There was a long moment of silence.

Lilia’s eyes were gentled, and now there was sorrow threaded through her gaze. “Do you have any idea of what you are risking?” she asked quietly, and for some reason, that sorrowed gentleness was even more upsetting than anger would have been.

Yuri closed his eyes tightly. He knew. To be publicly associated with another male skater.... It would be a scandal that could destroy his entire career. The Russian public adored their young Punk – they could accept his androgynous beauty, the fights and scrapes he fell into. But having a male lover? There was a limit to their love and their support. And this would be it. 

He remembered walking by the river with JJ at his side, listening as the boy explained how life was too short to live a lie. The Canadian boy was lucky. Things weren’t so easy in Yuri’s beloved Russia. He had seen the violence, the discrimination with his own eyes. He remembered the laws that had been suggested, where love could equal a jail sentence. He had seen the videos and photos with his own eyes - those boys who were just like him, but beaten and blooded, tears streaming down their faces while their torture became entertainment. And then there were the darker rumors - those whispers about the camps down south where men supposedly disappeared, human lives spun into smoke - disappearing from memory, from history, from the world as if they had never lived. Whether those rumors were true or not… Yuri’d heard talk of it spoken at a diner after a punk show - heard the contempt drip from the poisonous lips of a bearded old man as he praised such an action. Because filth and sin should be cleansed away. 

That was the undercurrent of hostility he was familiar with.

Being gay was okay - if no one else knew. If it was a secret kept between bedroom walls, and every other moment spent wearing a mask. But to stand in the spotlight as Russia’s prodigal son, and be involved with another man? The reporters would follow the scent of blood in the water, would shove their microphones in his face while they grimaced their polished, sharp-toothed smiles. And in the aftermath of the disaster, Yuri would likely find himself alone. There was a good chance he would lose a majority of his sponsors, for what Russian business would want to be associated with such a scandal? Would he be able to walk down the street without hearing the word, “Pedophile” hissed in his direction,? If he lost his funding... Would he be able to pay for his coaching fees? Would Yakov even want to be associated with him, carrying around the taint of such a scandal? Would the parents of the younger students want to bring their children to the skating center if Yuri was known to train there? 

His heart faltered, twisting inside of his chest.

“If I was.... involved... with JJ... Would you – would you still coach me?” Yuri let each word fall from his lips with a careful hesitation, his body as still as a held breath. Tried to ignore the flicker of fear that made his tongue feel flat and dry behind his teeth, the way dread had such a metallic taste.

The silence was heavy between them, spreading so wide and so deep it felt as if it was bleaching all oxygen from the room. 

Yuri turned his head slightly, just enough to allow him to glance upwards through a veil of golden lashes. He was surprised at Yakov's face. The old man's skin was turning a strangle mottled color, tinged with purpled indignation – and he could almost trace the disapproval etched deep into every wrinkle.

Yakov was angry. No – not quite angry. He was offended. As if Yuri had flung an insult instead of a question that tasted of fear. And perhaps that is what it had been. Yakov had raised him as much as his own grandfather had – had taken a precocious child and helped to transform him into an artist upon the ice. He had shouldered the burden of Yuri's rage, and his venomous tongue – and beneath his tutelage, a lonely boy had grown into a man.

“Don't ask such ridiculous questions,” Lilia responded sharply, one graceful hand lifting to sweep fingers through the air – as if she could brush away the foolish words that lingered in the air. “Yakov will coach you until the day you retire. We all know this.”

The breath that escaped from Yuri’s lungs tasted more like a sob, heavy with relief, and he found his head bowing under its weight. As if the glory of a halo was too lavish for a human spine to hold aloft, a golden prince who could not bear up beneath the burden of his crown. Yuri’s elbows rested against the wood of the table and his fingers dragged their way through the starlit tendrils of his hair, the heels of his palms pressing hard against his eyelids until colors burst like technicolor clouds behind his closed lashes.

Yuri could feel their stares upon him, the way their gazes seemed to sweep across his body, trying to decode his thoughts with the language of sinew and bone. It must have been so easy to recognize the frustration – the way his knuckles tightened their grip upon the strands of golden hair. The way his toe dug into the floor and his knee began to bounce in a stuttered, unsteady rhythm – anxiety spelled out clearly in the Morse code of restless limbs.

“To become a prima ballerina, one must be willing to sacrifice everything, Yurochka...” It was Lilia again, speaking with softness that he barely recognized. “I understand how lonely it can be at the top. Believe me, child, I do. But that is the price we pay for our success. If you risk everything for that boy... I fear you'll regret it for the rest of your life.”

For once, Lilia's gaze was gentled, and the tenderness in her voice could have found its home in a lullaby – such a strange sound coming from the lips of a woman who could carve away men with an arch of her brow and the unforgiving sharpness of her tongue. But now, Yuri could hear the echoes of sorrow dripping through the syllables – and vaguely, he was conscious of her graceful hands, the ring finger that had once held a band of gold, and now stood bare. Had Yakov been her regret? Or her sacrifice?

“What happens if you lose it all?” Yakov asked the question suddenly. “Have you thought it through? Would you destroy your career for him? Is he worth risking everything you have worked so hard for?”

Yuri’s body stilled.

Once upon a time, he had looked into Lilia's amber-green gaze and promised to pay any price. Vowed to sacrifice the blood in his veins and the flesh from his bones, cast aside every moment of joy and hand over his very soul if that was what it took to taste victory. Yuri had given his entire childhood. His body. Any attempt at love or friendship. Never allowing himself to be distracted from his goals. Had he ever truly asked for anything for himself? No. There had only been skating. It was all that he had. All that he was.

And now, Yuri was dizzy with the realization that it might all be taken away. Now he knew what sacrifice they were truly asking for. He thought it had been himself – his weakness spread across the altar and his throat bared to the blade. How many years had he spent tearing himself apart, burning away the flaws and fragility and vulnerable cracks in his talent that might have prevented him from achieving victory? Why wasn’t his own sacrifice enough? Why did they want this too? 

He had been willing to sacrifice everything. Yuri had been sacrificing himself for more than a decade. So why was the thought of sacrificing JJ so painful, carving notches against his bones? Yet if he refused, wouldn’t all of his past sacrifices have been for nothing? What if he agreed to this? Would that sacrifice be enough? Could it ever be enough?

 _Don't,_ Yuri wanted to cry at them. _Don't make me do this. Don't make me give this up. Don't take this away when I don't even know what it is. It's not fair, it's not fucking fair. I'm not ready yet. Please. Please don't._

“You have so much talent, Yuri. You have the ability to surpass Viktor someday. As long as you don't throw it away from a pretty smile and blue eyes.” Lilia was never one to mince words, and she could lay the truth bare with brutal efficiency, carving through Yuri’s defenses. She knew the right pressure points to prod - and he hated the pain they provoked.

There was Viktor again, and his very name felt unfair. It was too much - aching agony sparking against exposed nerves and his heart felt raw, bruised and exposed to the unforgiving elements. Yuri hurled himself to his feet, his chair skittering violently across the carpeted floor, threatening to unrest its roots and topple to the ground. 

“I forgot,” Yuri sneered. “Viktor Nikiforov is the golden boy. He can do not wrong in your eyes. The world will kiss his feet no matter what he does. But the moment I follow his footsteps, everyone turns on me.”

“That’s enough, Yura,” came Yakov's rumble of disapproval, and Yuri’s spared a glance to watch the old man fold his arms over his chest, shoulders squared to echo the glower of criticism. “We’re not here to talk about Vitya’s choices. We’re here to make sure you don’t throw away everything we’ve worked for.”

Fury was ricocheting through Yuri’s ribs. There was a storm building within him – every breath tasted like thunder against his throat and he could feel the sharp crack of lightning splintering through his bones. Clouds like bruises, violet and navy fogging through his mind – he couldn't _think_ with this tempest swirling within him. How did they expect him to fucking choose when he couldn't breathe and his fists were aching to hurl themselves into the smooth painted wall beside him? Yuri wanted to feel the world break, wanted to watch something shatter into a thousand tiny pieces splintered across the carpet, wanted to feel his knuckles split and tear because at least that pain would mean something.

Yuri grabbed a pillow, brought it up to his face as if he could smother the frustration lashing against his heart. He wanted to scream into it – let the anger spill from his tongue like ink to stain the ivory beneath his torn knuckles. He resisted the urge to scream, barely. It wasn’t a weakness he wanted to show, not with Lilia and Yakov watching him carefully.

Instead, Yuri’s forehead rested against the coolness of the pillow, hands unfurling to press palms against the white fabric. As if he could soak in its steadiness, as if he could peel off the egg-shell softness and wrap it around himself like a cloud.

“We're done talking about this,” he finally gasped, tearing the pillow from his face. “Let me – let me just think. Alone. Please. Or these walls are going to end up with some holes in them, and none of us want to pay that bill.”

Lilia sighed at that. But she rose to her feet with the graceful carriage of the Prima ballerina she had once been – even after so many decades, she could turn the simplest motions into the echoes of a dance. Still, she did not try to argue against the declaration. Not when she could see the tension in his muscles, the way his bruise-knuckled fists were trembling gently with suppressed frustration. She had spent years teaching him to harness his explosive temper. But even the Ice Tiger would be unable to keep control when the world was herding him into a cage.

She reached out to brush tender fingers across his forehead, her palm cool and soothing. Like Yuri’s mother had done when he had been a child, before grief had destroyed her world. He closed his eyes at the gesture, but his jaw tightened.

“The banquet starts in a few hours,” she murmured. “Your suit's hanging in the closet – don't be late. If you run into reporters, don't say a word. You have no comment until we discuss this more and come to a decision. But the faster we move, the better it will be for everyone.”

“Fine,” he snarled back.

The moment Yuri heard the door shut with a gentle click, the fragile hold he kept on his emotions snapped, and he hurled the pillow at the wall. It struck with a gentle and unsatisfying whomp, then tumbled to the ground.

He buried his head in his hands, palms hiding the emerald frustration burning in his eyes, and sucked in a ragged breath.. “Fuck,” the boy whispered into the heavy silence of the room.

What was he supposed to do now?


	12. A Beautiful Escape

Yuri paced his empty hotel room, Yakov’s words echoing through his skull, followed by the sharp memory of Lilia’s voice. They formed a symphony that swirled through the synapses of his mind, edged and demanding, crackling like the energy under his skin. He couldn’t breathe and yet he couldn’t stay still, and every instinct in his body screamed for him to leave - to shake away the beige-white walls that pressed against him like prison bars, this empty room that offered no sanctuary. His world was tumbling down around him and he couldn’t sit still while it happened.

It took only a few moments to shrug off his performance costume, shoving his long legs into plain black jeans, a simple t-shirt, a dark hoodie. Avoiding the ostentatious clothing he usually preferred - the spikes and the silver jewelry and those flashy animal prints that drew everyone’s eyes. He wanted to be nothing but ordinary today. Reporters would be on the look-out for the Russian punk - yet perhaps they wouldn’t notice a dull boy, clad in shadows and simplicity.

Luck was with him. The hotel hallways were empty when he slipped from his room, the stairwells were deserted except for the echo of his footsteps - and on the ground level, a forgotten back door offered the perfect path to freedom. He had successfully escaped without capturing anyone’s attention.

How often has JJ been the one to chase after him? A constant presence at Yuri’s back, always ready to offer a hand – whether it meant pulling him off of the ice and bandaging his torn skin, or curling an arm around his waist to help him navigate the dark landscape of midnight-Montreal. All he had to do was stand still, and the dark-haired skater had always found him, always offering help and encouragement like some sort of guardian angel with maple flavored kisses and crooked smirks.

Yet now it was Yuri who was chasing.

Or maybe he was running. Running away from the disappointment of his coaches - their words throbbing like ashen bruises beneath his skin. Running away from the world and its cruelty, the unfairness of its demands, its threats to destroy everything he had built. Running away from the weight that pressed against his shoulders, the suffocating heaviness that made his breath falter inside of his chest in ragged gasps. 

Oh god. What was he going to _do_?

Yuri hurtled down the cracked sidewalks, ignoring the curious glances cast in his direction as he shoved his way through the afternoon crowd, following the swarm of bodies down beneath the earth to the now-familiar subway station. His hood was pulled down low over his brow as he stood in the subway car, his body swaying gently as he watched the world blur past the glass. It was hard to process the murmurs of the people around him, hard to focus on the metallic growl as the subway car groaned and clattered through the underground tunnels. 

It was a blur of noise and color and Yuri knew that he must look like a wild boy, that the dark hood pulled low over his golden hair carved shadows beneath his cheekbones. He still wore the dark rings of eyeliner from his performance - now smudged from sweat and his own fingertips. He wondered if the pale green of his eyes carried any of his barely fettered fury or thinly concealed terror, or just the helpless frustration of this entire unfair situation. His body no longer felt woven from muscle and bone, blood and sinew. It felt as if some modern twist of alchemy that transformed veins into cables and blood into electricity that danced beneath his skin, a thousand tiny lightning bolts streaking crooked fingers against his bones. Maybe that was why Yuri was trembling, unable to stand still - his foot tapping a frantic beat against the metal floor. He wasn’t a boy running away from the world - he was a live wire threatening to spark into a storm. 

It was a relief when the subway doors slid open again. Yuri’s body moved on autopilot, long legs striding across cracked pavement, past honking cars, weaving through the crowds. Above him, the afternoon sunshine had been smothered in thick grey clouds, heavy and swollen with the promise of rain. But the breeze against his cheeks held warmth, yet the cold blood curling through his veins was stronger. 

And then he was in front of a familiar building. His body moved with a mind of its own, as if there was a thread wrapped around his chest and was tugging him forward, telling his feet exactly where to fall. His body had memorized this pathway, and he gratefully allowed it to pull him into the elevator and then into a simple hallway. 

Finally, Yuri came to a halt in front of a familiar doorway. His heart was pounding so hard - knocking against his chest, a violent drum-dance of fear and frustration and worry. His fingers curled into fists, torn knuckles rapping sharply against the door, and the moment of silence that followed was the longest moment of his entire life. 

Maybe this had been a stupid idea. Maybe JJ wouldn’t want to see him - wouldn’t want to get drawn even deeper into this scandal. Or maybe he wasn’t even home at all. Maybe the other skater was back at the rink, still swarmed with reporters and conversing with their competitors. Maybe he should have just stayed at the hotel, lost in his own thoughts, maybe he shouldn’t have bothered -

And then the door flung itself open.

JJ’s familiar tall frame filled the doorway, and Yuri couldn’t help but drink in the sight of him. How, for a brief heartbeat, the other boy seemed frozen - his hair a mess of haphazard black strands, wild and windswept. Those blue eyes that looked stained with worry suddenly flared wide with surprise, full lips parted in shock. And then, like light finally sweeping across a grey-dawn sky, worry and shock bloomed into pure relief. 

Yuri felt his entire body go still at the sight, the words on his lips swallowed into silence at the pure relief he saw echoed on the face of the boy in front of him. JJ was looking at him as if he was a mirage spun from sunlight, as if he was afraid to blink for fear that Yuri would disappear the moment his lashes swept down to brush across his skin. 

Yuri felt his heart pound louder, could feel its pulse like a fluttering kiss against the delicate flesh of his wrists, the way his blood seemed to tug him towards the open doorway, dragging his lean body from the open hallway to stand mere inches from the other boy. He halted there, so close and yet so far, feeling a thousand words beg to be spilled from the rose blush of his lips. 

Yet silence hovered between them. Yuri didn’t know what to say - didn’t know how to explain the riot of emotions that had battered at his bones, the tempest that had collared his wrists and dragged him through the city, in search of comfort in the form of a dark-haired man with eyes that could be as dark as bruises - yet now, they were smoke edged in quicksilver. 

Yuri took a deep breath, felt the silence whisper against his throat as his fingers twisted into fists. 

And then JJ was reaching for him. Strong arms rose to wrap around his body, tightening - and he found himself lost in an embrace that was fierce and desperate, pulled against the Canadian’s chest with an urgency that made his body ache. 

“I wasn’t sure I’d see you again,” he heard JJ murmur against his temple, and there was a tremor woven through the words that made him ache. Yuri’s fists unfurled just enough to gather in handfuls of the other boy’s t-shirt, weaving fingers through fabric as if to keep himself grounded. 

All Yuri could feel was the warmth of JJ’s body pressed against his. He allowed himself a single shaky breath before he buried his face in the crook of the other boy’s neck - surrounded by the scent of cologne and bodywash and the undercurrent of sweat - that musk that was slowly becoming familiar to him. JJ’s arms curled tightly around him, as if could form himself into a human shield against the outside world. And he fit inside of them perfectly. Their bodies folded upon themselves like origami, twisting into a single creature of colored paper - gold mingled with midnight, cream edges sinking into honey. Clinging to each other tightly. 

Yuri could feel the slight tremble through JJ’s body, mirroring the waver that had flickered in his voice - and he could feel the echo of the other boy’s fear, could taste it lingering in the air between them, could feel it in the hard strength of the hug. JJ, the boy who wore his self-assurance as naturally as Yuri wore his combat boots - had been afraid of losing him. 

He knew he was trembling just as much.

It should have been alarming, the way a simple hug could untangle the knot of fury tangled against Yuri’s ribcage - the way it could soothe the burn of sadness scraping beneath his skin. Every muscle had felt threaded with tension, coiled tight enough to form aching knots along the slope of his skin - yet those twisted ligaments were unraveling, loosening One hug, and he felt like he could breathe again - for the first time since Yakov had shown him the video. 

Finally, Yuri forced himself to raise his head, unfurling his fists from their tight grip on JJ’s shirt - suddenly too conscious of the apartment door swung wide open behind him, as if inviting the gaze of any curious neighbor. With the flames of scandal already smoldering, that’s the last thing they needed.

So the blond-haired boy forced himself to give a laugh, a shaky sound woven more from air than vibration, edged with a sheepish embarrassment he couldn’t quite express. JJ caught on quickly, and there was a flash of that wide, flame-bright grin, and he stepped backwards, ushering Yuri properly into the sanctuary of his apartment. 

The door clicked shut behind them, pushing away the outside world. They were safe in here, at least. 

“You saw the video too, yeah?” Yuri asked as he kicked off his shoes, purple zebra-striped socks clinging to his feet. It was a foolish question and an obvious one. There had been no mistaking JJ’s face as he had walked by after his performance, the hesitant fear lurking across his features. The stricken worry stained like ink in the blue of his eyes.

JJ reached up to rake fingers through his dark hair, combing through the black silk. Yet the fine strands just fell in a tumble against his brow once more. No wonder it had been a wild mess when JJ had answered the door. “Seung-Gil showed it to me, almost the minute you stepped onto the ice. Apparently, it made the rounds pretty quick this afternoon.”

Yuri couldn't quite hide a wince at that statement, couldn't quite smother the flare of irritation. He couldn’t forget the feeling of so many eyes studying him, gazes shifted into bladed scalpels, ready to dissect him to fulfil curiosity. He couldn’t forget those whispers like ghosts flickering on the edge of one’s vision - so quick and so hushed, it couldn’t be captured, slipping between the fingers like moonlight. It felt hard to believe - the crowd who had cheered his name and had tossed armfuls of flowers onto the ice just the day before… Now they were salivating at the hint of a scandal.

“You talk to any reporters yet?” He asked, leaning back against the marble of the kitchen counter. His voice was flavored with his irritation, the words tasting acidic in his throat. 

JJ shook his head. He mirrored Yuri’s posture, standing only feet away, reclining against the counter with lazy grace. Just out of reach. “Not yet. I didn't want to speak to anyone until we had a chance to talk. Not until I knew what you wanted to do.”

Yuri raised one shoulder in a graceful shrug, but he couldn’t smother his grimace of frustration. He knew this discussion was necessary, and yet… He hated that it was needed in the first place. He wanted to be hugging JJ again, wanted to be laughing with him, trading comments barbed with sarcasm to balance the tender brush of lips. “What else can we do? Deny everything and hope it goes away.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” JJ said quietly. And Yuri resisted the urge to flinch. Instead, he looked down, studying the black stripes that rivered across his socks. He had known what the other boy meant.

JJ’s gaze felt as weighted as his words, syllables carefully chosen and uttered with slow precision. “What do you want to happen with us?”

Yuri wanted to lie. It filled his mouth with tempting sweetness, the desire to promise that everything would be okay, that nothing could interfere with his desires, that the world didn’t have the power to tear apart this fragile, unknown thing growing between them. But he knew better than to make such a vow. His soul might be filled with passion, but his eyes were not filled with a rose-painted naivety. Behind the cage of his ribs, it was an old heart that beat inside of his chest, world-weary and wise beyond his years. He was old enough to know that life was often cruel in its unfairness. That sometimes, bad things happened to good people and good things happened to bad people, and happily-ever-afters often shriveled beneath the flames of reality.

And JJ deserved honesty.

“Yakov and Lilia say that my career is at risk,” Yuri answered with a shrug of his shoulders, as if his career wasn't something he had devoted most of his life to building. As if the prospect wasn’t enough to send terror sparking through his veins. As if his career wasn't everything that he was, the only thing he knew how to be. 

But JJ knew. His gaze was too perceptive as he studied the youth before him, one dark brow arching upwards. There was a slight frown tugging at his lips, such an unfamiliar expression for that mouth meant to cradle smirks and grins. Yet never had Yuri seen JJ look so serious, his head tilted gently to the side. “Is it?”

Yuri’s shoulders slumped and bitterness flooded his mouth, the taste of gunmetal against his tongue. “Yeah,” he whispered. “It is. I might lose all of my sponsors.” A smile curved his lips, yet it was bleached of all mirth. It held nothing but a wry twist of despair, mocking and bitter. A perfect foil to the anger that glittered in his green eyes. 

Now JJ’s face twisted into something pained. His hand reached upwards to comb through his black hair, a deep sigh sinking from his lungs, heavy and slow. “Jesus, Yuri. I’m sorry.” His brow furrowed, eyes clenched tightly closed for a moment. This was an expression Yuri had never seen on the other boy’s face. And when those dark lashes fluttered open, there was no disguising the guilt that flickered beneath. “I shouldn’t have done that in public. I mean, I was angry and I was worried but I - I should have _known_ better. But I wasn’t thinking.”

Was JJ…. blaming himself for this entire fiasco?

There was the anger again, the sharp-edged glitter in his veins, spreading through Yuri’s lungs. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that the world was judging him, that their gossip could have the power to tear everything apart. And now here was JJ, trying to shoulder the blame? Those laughing blue eyes turned sorrowful, painted with a guilt that sent a spike of pain burning through the Russian boy’s chest. Yuri had never been good at offering comfort to others, never knowing how to soften the abrasiveness of his tone, never knowing how to smooth away sadness or give encouragement through dark times. But it hurt to see the other boy looking so serious, shoulders curved beneath the weight of remorse.

Yuri frowned, leaning forward to flick his finger at JJ’s forehead. “Hey,” he said, unable to erase the sharp discomfort from his voice. “Stop that. How’re you supposed to know someone would be filming? Wanna blame someone? Blame everyone else for not minding their own fucking business.”

JJ was staring at him, surprise overpowering the stricken expression of guilt. 

His golden lashes swept downwards, and Yuri took a breath, letting air filled his chest. When he raised his gaze again, his teeth were clenched. Just like the fists curled at his side, his nails tattooing crescent-mooned frustration against his lifelines. His chin lifted, eyes narrowed and sparkling with defiance.

“Listen. I don’t know what’s going to happen. And I can’t promise anything, y’know? But - But right now... I don’t want any of them to tell me how to live my life,” Yuri whispered, and the words were fierce and raw, a harsh burn against his throat.

He looked straight into JJ’s face as he said it. There was a long moment of silence. And those pensive blue eyes softened into something warm, their edges crinkling beneath the weight of appreciation. That unfamiliar frown unraveled, fading away as if it had never been. And in its place, a smile grew across JJ’s lips - not that familiar, wide grin, all lopsided mischief - but a gentle curve of the mouth that was so tender and easy. Yet it wasn’t quite enough to hide the faint undercurrent of sadness that lingered at the edges.

It was that sadness that drew Yuri away from the kitchen counters, tugging him forward. He shifted to cross the distance between their bodies, those inches that stretched for miles, wanting to smooth away the ache he saw buried in the other boy’s eyes. But he didn’t know the right words to reassure him - there were none that Yuri could offer. Because the pretty words that could comfort were painted with dishonesty and the honest words felt like offering a bouquet of weeds, tattered leaves that held more thorns than blossoms, forlorn and pathetic. 

He hesitated for a brief moment before his hand reached out, raising upwards to brush across dark hair, marveling over the soft silk that curled around his touch. It was all he could offer. Yuri pushed those black strands away from JJ’s gaze, trailing down over his temple before falling down to brush tender fingers against sharp cheekbones. JJ tilted his head in order to nuzzle into his touch, pressing his lips against Yuri’s palm.

JJ’s arms lifted to settle against his hips, gently drawing him closer until Yuri was tucked against his chest. They fit so easily against each other, the blond-boy marveled quietly to himself. Hips flush against hips, torso pressed against torso, hands finding their homes in the curve of the neck and the small of the back. And when JJ’s dark-fringed eyes flickered down to trace the sensual curve of Yuri’s mouth, the Russian boy felt a surge of anticipation flow through his body. His heart picked up speed against his ribcage, even as he lifted his chin, even as he instinctively tilted his head back. Because JJ’s head was bowing to meet his, and his breath hitched softly in his throat -

And their lips met. _Finally._

Part of Yuri knew that they should keep talking. He needed to be trying to think of a plan, some way to cut through the tangles of this entire mess. This wasn’t a situation that could be solved with a kiss - but in the back of his head, there was still a whisper, that frantic, terrified voice that told him there was nothing that could be done. He wanted to drown out that whisper, wanted to lose himself in this kiss - the press of lips that started out so chaste and gentle, yet quickly deepened into something more. Lips parted beneath warm tongues, teeth nipping, and hearts pounding faster.

Here, the outside world did not exist. There were no swinging fists or shaky cameras. There were no whispers, no poison-edged gossip or giggles shrouded in curious cruelty. There was no tomorrow with its early-morning plane, waiting to carry him over the skies and across the world, returning them both to their separate lives. Outside, Yuri’s world may have been collapsing, stars peeling themselves away from the velvet of the heavens to pour down upon the earth, dreams crumbling beneath the weight of responsibility. Yet it could not touch them here. Not now. 

Yuri wanted to forget everything else except this.

It didn’t feel like their stolen moments in the closet, playful teasing and hushed laughter hidden against heated skin. This was a kiss that tasted of desperation and fear and desire. In the back of Yuri’s mind, a timer was blinking, minutes fading and seconds dissolving in their evanescent glory, counting down the time they had left until the afternoon was over. The real world was pressing against the window glass, and its threat was the tension brushing across his spine. Yuri was afraid of these minutes slipping away too quickly, disappearing into memory. And he thought he could taste that same hint of fear on JJ’s tongue, feel it in the palms that curved across his waist, rough and tender at the same time. 

Right now, this was all that mattered. 

Desire had been kept tightly bound, locked within a little box tucked carefully behind their ribs. Passions restrained beneath gentle smiles, hunger subdued behind dark-lashes. And now… It was finally released. Their bodies were rivers of kerosene - and this kiss was the spark that set them both aflame. 

Yuri pushed himself closer against JJ’s chest with a whimper. He wanted to be closer, wanted to brush his hands across every inch of the other boy’s skin, wanted to memorize the jagged breath that spilled from JJ’s lips. He wanted to forget everything else except the press of their bodies and this kiss with its deepening urgency. His whimper was echoed in the sound that fell from the dark haired boy - a groan of satisfaction, of need, and Yuri felt the arms around him tighten. 

They could take everything else but they couldn’t take this moment away. This might be all that they had, this single week, this single afternoon, but it was theirs and he couldn’t let it go. 

Yuri tore his mouth away for a brief moment, lips pressing a constellation of messy kisses against JJ’s jawline. “More,” he panted quietly, his voice low and breathy. It was half demand and half question mark, emphasized by the quiet plea that followed on its heels, a gasping sound that was filled with too much desperation. “Please, JJ.” 

“Hold on,” he heard JJ growl against his ear.

That was the only warning he had before Yuri was suddenly lifted up off the ground. Through their kiss, he made a sound of surprise, his arms tightening their grip around the other boy’s neck. Automatically, his legs curled around JJ’s waist. Wide-palmed hands slid from his waist, tracing the downward curve of his hips to cradle a firm grip beneath his ass. 

Somehow, they managed to cross the wide expanse of the living room, and Yuri shed his dark hoodie, shrugging out of its soft fabric and leaving it puddled on the floor of the hallway. The t-shirt beneath allowed better access to his skin, and the sight of the creamy white smoothness distracted their journey. Yuri growled as he was pinned against the hallway wall, JJ’s teeth scraping against the graceful sweep of his neck. The growl dissolved into a gasping moan, arching into the touch. His fingers slid upwards across the shorn-velvet undercut before burying themselves dark hair, and pulling tight enough to bring a gasp from JJ’s throat, that delicious groan that sounded almost like a curse. 

They stumbled into the bedroom, and JJ used the edge of his foot to kick the door shut behind them. A few long strides carried them to the bed, where Yuri tumbled backwards into white sheets and blankets that held the other boy’s scent, surrounding his senses like an ocean, sinking into his lungs and into his veins. And his heart was pounding so hard, and confidence was wavering yet desire was growing ever stronger. He felt the mattress fall beneath the weight of JJ’s knee beside his thigh, and his mouth grew dry. Could JJ feel the way his body was trembling, lean limbs overwhelmed with this need and this sudden self-conscious nervousness?

“Wait,” Yuri gasped beneath the other boy’s shadow. “I’ve gotta tell you something.” The moment the words spilled from his mouth, he wished he could call them back, cage them between his fingers and swallow them back into his chest. This wasn’t the time for foolish confessions.

JJ grew still above him, and although his breath scraped shallow against his throat, those desire-darkened eyes focused on Yuri’s face. “Tell me what?” he asked, tilting his head, staring down at the boy with the flushed cheeks and furrowed brow. “Do you want to stop?”

“No!” he immediately countered, vehement. He wanted to close his eyes, wanted to groan at his ridiculous impulse. “Fuck. It’s just - I've never done anything like this before,” Yuri glared beyond JJ’s shoulder to stare up at the ceiling, jaw clenching tightly as the words gritted out from between his teeth. His fists gripped the sheets tightly, weaving handfuls through his fingers. 

There was a silence, long and heavy, and he glanced over at the other young man. JJ was staring at him, surprise scrawled so clearly upon his face. And the shock of the expression made Yuri's pale cheeks burn warmer, embarrassed. “I've done... Some... Stuff. But not... Y'know... This.”

Ugh. Even the words tripped upon his tongue, stiff and heavy and awkward, and Yuri found himself holding his breath. Waiting for JJ to laugh or tease him. Or tell him to get out. It was no secret that the other man had more practice in the bedroom than half a dozen boys their age. But JJ didn’t need to know that his experiences with partners prior to this week consisted of a few clumsy kisses that tasted of stale vodka and melancholy. Nothing that sent his heart pounding like JJ did. Nothing like this.

There was a long moment of silence before JJ spoke. His voice was low, burning with a husky thread. “We don't have to do anything you don't want to do, Yuri,” he said gently. “I’m not looking to go.. All the way. I just want to make you feel good. But only if you want to.”

Yuri pushed himself off the sheets, sitting upwards before the other boy. “I want this,” he whispered fiercely, and to prove it, he grabbed JJ’s shirt in the fist of one hand, and pulled him close for a kiss.

There was a brief moment of hesitation, a strange gentleness that made Yuri’s heart flutter with a flare of concern. Was JJ remembering the night before when he had spoken of taking things slow? Not wanting to rush? But that was before. Before the whispers and the threat of scandal that had breathed down their necks, threatening to tear apart this delicate… thing they were beginning to build. Before JJ had wondered if Yuri had been gone for good.

But then JJ was kissing him back, hard and fierce, and it was the taste of adrenaline and triumph and rebellion. This was everything they didn’t want him to have, and Yuri wanted to drown in it all. Maybe he was drowning, he thought, even as JJ pushed gently against him, and he felt his back hit the sheets. Wrapped in JJ’s taste and JJ’s scent and the feel of JJ’s firm body pressed against him.

JJ’s tongue was dipped in honey, intoxicating, and Yuri felt drunk on the sugarhigh bliss of every supple sweet kiss. This was what fire tasted like, he thought. The kind of flames that could ignite your veins or turn you into ash. All he had to do was surrender to it, let it flow through him and send him soaring. JJ’s lips were stealing his breath away, and all he could do was ache for more. 

JJ trailed away from his lips, planting kisses along his jawline with a tenderness that was its own exquisite torment. But then his mouth was at Yuri’s throat, and he felt warm breath against soft skin, felt the scrape of teeth and it brought a sharp jolt of pleasure crackling through his abdomen. Yuri couldn’t silence the moan that spilled from his mouth, or the way his body arched back against the sheets. 

He felt dazed. 

JJ paused for a moment, a crooked smirk curling the edge of his lips. And Yuri made a faint sound of protest as he felt the other boy shift, pulling away. JJ sat backwards on his heels and his scarlet-clad shoulders straightened, as if he was savoring the feel of Yuri’s eyes upon him, as if the emerald gaze carried the weight of a caress - smooth and warm. And in one slow, unhurried gesture, JJ lifted his arms - one hand reaching above his head to curl into the fabric beneath his nape. In a single motion, he pulled the shirt off over his head, every movement painted with a sensual grace and practiced ease that made Yuri’s heart pick up speed.

_Holy fuck._

Yuri felt his mouth go dry. He had glimpsed JJ without a shirt before - had seen dozens of bare-chested images scattered across social media over the years. He had even viewed a video or two of JJ performing on stage, sweat clinging to his shirtless chest, glistening as he prowled and growled and laughed before hundreds of screaming fans. Yuri had never truly appreciated the glory of that sight before. But this…. This was different. This was for his eyes only. 

Yuri reached up, fingers wrapping around one of JJ’s hands and pulling him down to the sheets. JJ came willingly, and the sound of his chuckle was a note of music that Yuri would remember for the rest of his life. JJ’s body reclined beside him, and Yuri took this opportunity to kick off his jeans - it wasn’t graceful or sensual, but at least it made it easier to climb on top of the other boy. With his legs bare, clad in only a dark t-shirt and boxers, he straddled JJ’s hips and looked down at the boy who had once been his rival.

_Is this really happening?_

His heart had never pounded harder.

JJ looked up at him, dark hair spilled across pale pillows, and there was warm amusement in his gaze. His hands reached out and settled themselves against Yuri’s knees - before slowly sliding upwards, palms smoothing over his thighs. Achingly slow. Finally, though, they came to a rest at his hips. His thumbs pressed firmly against the bones of his pelvis, but his fingertips slipped up under the hem of Yuri’s shirt to brush against the soft skin beneath. Even that simple touch was electrifying. Could JJ feel the way his body shivered?

Yuri’s green eyes devoured every inch of exquisite beauty that lay before him. Pale amber skin against the bleached ivory sheets, and the blue of JJ’s eyes burnt bright beneath tousled dark hair. And Yuri knew he had never seen anything more perfect than the man lying beneath him. It was enough to make his chest ache, a strange pang of wonder and delight.

The slope of JJ broad shoulders begged to be traced with the palms of his hands - so Yuri did. He reached down, and JJ held himself perfectly still - yet at the first hesitant touch of gentle fingers, Yuri heard the soft inhalation of breath. 

Yuri’s fingers slid across the fine ridge of collarbone, marveling at the way it dipped, the way shadows clung to its edges. He was rapt with fascination. He could feel JJ’s throat tighten beneath a shaky swallow, saw his lips part gently beneath a shuddering breath. Yuri’s palms slid lower to brush across JJ’s chest, memorizing the contour of hard muscle beneath the stretch of soft skin. His broad chest tapered down into a sculpted stomach - those glorious abs begging to be traced. Every inch was smooth beneath his touch. 

Nestled against his chest was a familiar flash of silver - and Yuri couldn't help the flutter of happiness uncurling in his stomach. JJ hadn't taken off the medallion. For a moment, he allowed his palm to splay wide over the other boy’s chest, just above his heart, that fierce muscle cradled beneath the cage of his ribs. JJ held himself so still, and yet he could still feel the pulse of an erratic heartbeat, the frantic pounding beneath the flutter of his fingertips. It echoed the slam of his own heart, the way adrenaline seemed to burn through every vein. 

Yuri’s lips found the constellation of freckles that were scattered across JJ's shoulder, and he kissed each one. Most people looked up at the sky and made wishes upon the first bright point of light they saw in the heavens – but these were the stars he wanted to make a thousand wishes upon. Close his eyes and open his heart to the universe, but instead of saying, “Please please please,” he just wanted to say an endless prayer of Thank Yous.

Against his lips, he could feel every breath of air being drawn into JJ’s lungs, could feel the tension vibrating through his body. Yuri let his lips trail downwards, savoring the taste of salt against his tongue. He wanted to touch, to taste, every inch of smooth skin spread before him. He wanted to know which touches produced which delicious noises - which nerves tugged low in JJ’s belly and caused warmth to spark through every vein. He wanted to discover JJ, one moment at a time. He knew that he was being slow, that their time in this bed was limited. But he couldn’t rush this. 

“Yuri,” JJ said, his voice a murmur, dragging the syllables across his tongue in a breath heavy with reverence. Yuri had never truly appreciated his name before - not until he heard it scorching from the other man’s throat, and now it was the most delicious sound.

He wanted to hear more. He wanted to memorize every moan, every gasp, every word that broke and cracked from sheer pleasure - knowing that he was the cause. It was the warmth of his lips, the touch from his fingers, it was his beauty that was causing JJ to throw his head back against the pillow, those dark crescent lashes falling closed.

Yuri’s lips trailed across JJ’s chest, pausing for a moment over one smooth pectoral before he let his teeth graze across the tender flesh just above his heart. At the same moment, he rocked his hips forward, grinding down against JJ - and the current of pleasure took him by surprise - caused twinned moans to spill from both boys. 

Yuri didn't move his mouth away from where his teeth has grazed, but instead sucked on it softly. Watching as the soft amber skin began to bloom with a bruise like a rubied rose. At first, it was a pale pink, but beneath the determination of his lips, it darkened into a gentle dusky purple. 

He wanted to sink into the other boy’s skin, wanted to leave a mark for JJ to discover later. Yuri wanted to claim him in some small, temporary way. It was a childish desire, perhaps. But even if he had to return home to Russia… At least this would be a souvenir. Every time JJ looked in the mirror, for a few days at least, he would see the mark from Yuri’s lips and he would remember this. And if there were any lovers after he was gone, well - they’d know Yuri had been here too.

“Mmmm,” came JJ’s reaction. “You always mark your toys when you play with them, chaton?” But he didn't sound upset. His breath was ragged, torn at the edges, but there was no disguising the pleased purr to his words. He sounded rapturous. 

Yuri gave him a little nip, just hard enough to hear the gasp, and rocked his hips forward again. He felt a wicked thrill curling inside of his stomach at the way the other boy’s body jolted beneath him. At the dazed groan that spilled from JJ’s lips.

“Wanna make sure you don’t forget me when I go home,” he growled in response. 

“Forget you?” JJ asked, and the chuckle he gave was breathless in its disbelief. “Fucking - fucking impossible.”

But it felt good to see the hickey form above JJ’s heart, darkening beneath the suction of his clever mouth. Some primal pleasure stirred in Yuri’s chest, and his lips curved into a tilted smirk. He liked marking JJ. Liked the way it made JJ’s eyes grow darker with desire, marbled sapphires shadowed with want. Right now, at least, JJ was his.

And he was going to make sure that JJ never forgot this.

Slowly, Yuri pushed himself away from the other boy’s body, straightening upwards. He still straddled JJ’s hips, though he sat straight and proud, aware of the elegant lines of his neck, the graceful arch of his back beneath his clothed chest. Wondering if his green eyes were emerald coals flamed with lust, heavy lidded and wanton. Wondered if his lips were swollen from kissing, still tasting of JJ’s skin and JJ’s moans. 

Yuri took a breath and his fingers curled beneath the hem of his shirt. With a slow sweep of his arms, he raised it upwards and over his head - aware that the very movement drew JJ’s eyes across his body. He was unwrapping himself in a way that he had never done before, revealing all of those secret parts of his body and his heart that were always kept hidden. And as he tossed the t-shirt away from him, clad only in thin boxers, Yuri had never felt more exposed. 

Slender shoulders tapered into a flat stomach and thin hips gave way to long legs, giving him an almost feminine appearance. Yet the muscles that were carved into the lean marble were all masculine. His skin was pale, soft cream in the faded afternoon light. But its ivory was littered with a rainbowed bouquet of bruises - livid blossoms like navy fingerprints along his calves, dull shadows smeared like ink over his ribs, purpled galaxies unfurled over his knees. His body was a canvas of smeared paint, bright under the pearl of his skin. 

Yuri reached up, slipping his hair-tie off of his hair. Clever fingers smoothed through and untangled the strands, letting his pale-gold mane fall down his body. Long strands of silk tumbled down his chest, the tips brushing against the back of his arms – shorter strands framing his face. Behind the gold, long lashes raised upwards to reveal his eyes – burning with a green fire that sparked with desire, yet seemed almost hesitant with a soft vulnerability.

 _Look at me_ , Yuri wanted to whisper. This was what he was. All that he was. All that he could ever be. He wasn't a gorgeous woman with long legs and a mane of wild hair, an Aphrodite with sparkling eyes and lips that could drown any man. He wasn't a broad-shouldered Adonis with sharp cheekbones and a prowling swagger made for the runways. He was a young punk kid with jagged edges and torn knuckles, a body painted with bruises and a heart full of thunder. 

“You're so beautiful,” JJ whispered, and there was an expression on his face that Yuri had never seen before. An awe so deep it almost looked like pain. As if he was afraid to breathe in case the other boy was nothing more than a daydream that would trickle through his fingers like water.

Yuri felt those strong hands lift, sliding their way up the smooth muscles of his back, and for a moment, he felt his body grow tense, felt the oxygen gasp into his lungs and stay there. Because no one had every touched him like this before. He had never let anyone get close enough to touch him. Yet how could he not surrender to this? To JJ’s fingers tracing down his spine once more, smooth and slow and patient. Beneath such hands, Yuri’s muscles relaxed, giving in to the strange intimacy of simply… being touched. He felt a whimper tumble from his lips, his lashes fluttering closed at the overwhelming sensation of skin against skin. 

Yuri had always called himself the Ice Tiger. Cold and aloof with eyes like green glass, fierce and untouchable with a heart made of winter wind and frozen snow. So what did that make JJ now? He was summer incarnate. Honeyed skin and blazing heat, with skin that tasted of sunshine - the kind of warmth that sunk into the veins and made blood simmer. Damp sweat caused dark hair to curl slightly, plastered to his forehead - he was carnal pleasure and wicked smirks. JJ’s eyes were molten, blue-flames burning beneath dark, heavy lashes. His black heart pupils were blown wide, until sapphire grew dusky with shadows of lust. 

Yuri felt as if he had been starving his entire life. And now… Every touch was intoxicating. He had watched those calloused fingertips strum across silvered guitar strings - now, they trailed over his body, as if they were searching for the song that lived inside of him, as if every whimper and every gasp was its own note, weaving them together into a symphony of sensation.

Then JJ’s hands tugged him down to the bed, and with a startling ease, their positions were flipped. Now, Yuri’s back was pressed against the soft sheets, and JJ was above him once more, looking down with those desire-glazed eyes. And all he could feel was the other boy’s hands. All he could feel were those lips, pressing themselves into every shadowed hollow of his body. The weight of JJ’s body sent his heart pounding frantically against his ribcage - surely the other boy could feel it trembling through his body, that bruising beat that betrayed him.

JJ’s fingers traced an alphabet against his skin – but it wasn't a language Yuri had ever known. It wasn't one he had ever read before – yet he could feel his entire body stirring, as if awakening for the first time. Everywhere JJ touched, there was a trail of sparks in his wake - lingering glimmers of glitter and flame. Across Yuri’s collarbone, weaving across his chest,brushing over the edges of his ribs, smoothing across the hard lines of his stomach. As if savoring every inch of the exquisite man beneath him, as if trying to memorize the curve of every sinew, every scar, every small freckle dusted across skin.

Every touch made Yuri burn.

JJ brushed his fingers across the Russian’s hips, smoothing hands across the fabric clinging to his thighs. Teasing, savoring the way Yuri’s breath trembled against his lips, before his touch rose upwards once more. Finally, JJ’s fingers brushed across the waistband of Yuri’s boxers, and he lifted his head to look at the blond-haired boy. 

“Is this okay?” He asked, and the tilt of his head sent a mess of dark hair tumbling over his brow, so deliciously disheveled. 

“Y-yeah,” Yuri managed to respond, though the word felt hard to grasp. He lifted his hips for further emphasis, hoping that would be answer enough. Fingers slid beneath the boxers, and slid them down his thighs, over long, graceful legs. They were tossed to the side, and Yuri was left naked on the bed. 

JJ grew still at the sight, and a low curse tumbled from his mouth like a groan, a battered prayer of awe and wonder that made Yuri blush. He felt the flush warm over his skin, hibiscus painted over porcelain - but he couldn’t look away from the other boy’s face. No one had ever stared at him with such intensity, as if he were both wicked sin and sweet redemption, as if the beauty of his body was a shrine before which mortal men fell to their knees, as if happiness could fill one’s chest until the heart began to ache. 

“Mon beau,” he heard JJ whisper as the other boy leaned forward to brush lips against Yuri’s stomach, tracing across the bone of his hip. JJ paused against that gentle slope where a pale-blue artery rivered its way beneath the soft alabaster of the other boy’s skin. There, he left a mirror to the bruise that Yuri had printed upon his chest - sucking and licking and nibbling gently until Yuri found himself trembling, cursing under his breath. It was just his hip, just a few inches of skin - yet the warmth of JJ’s mouth sent spikes of pleasure radiating through his chest, until his head swam with dizzy bliss and he wondered if a person could could be driven mad from feeling so _much_.

When he was finished, JJ nuzzled against the rose-kissed mark, and Yuri caught a glimpse of a pleased grin before the dark-haired boy lowered his head again, letting his lips continue their exploration. When they brushed against the tender skin of his inner thighs, Yuri’s breath stuttered against his lips. 

He was so hard, it was a physical ache - he could see the droplets of pre-cum already beading at the tip of his cock, the evidence of his pleasure, his need, laid bare for JJ to see. There was a smirk crooking the corner of JJ’s mouth at the sight, and Yuri saw that flash of _want_ sparking behind those thick, dark lashes.

JJ’s lips wrapped around him, and his mouth was so warm and so fucking wet, And Yuri couldn't help the way his back arched, head throwing back against the pillow. A startled groan spilled from his lips, and his fingers reached down to tangle themselves into dark silk hair. 

“Oh… Oh _fuck_ ,” Yuri breathed. 

JJ’s mouth was tight around him, taking all of him and oh god, he had never experienced anything like this. He made a sound that was half gasp and half moan. He knew he was making ridiculous noises, that the pleasure running across every nerve made it impossible to choke back every panting gasp, every fractured curse that threatened to fall. 

Yuri pressed the heel of his palm against his mouth, turning the sound of his moan into a muffled whimper pressed against his lifelines, trying to swallow back every foolish sound that tried to spill forth. His slender fingers spread wide to hide his flushed cheeks, the pink-wetness of his parted lips. 

The heat around him disappeared, and his eyes flew open at the shock of cold air against his wet skin, leaving him panting, aching with the loss of sensation. His fingers parted to peer down at JJ. Why the hell had he stopped? Had he done something wrong?

“Don’t do that,” JJ reached up, one large hand wrapping gently around Yuri’s slender arm to pull it away from his face. “Every sound you make… I want to hear it all.”

How could he refuse when JJ was watching him with such intensity in his eyes, even when it made his own cheeks burn with embarrassment? It took every ounce of will-power to pull his hand away from his face, but he did so, letting it slide down to join the other hand tangled in JJ’s thick hair.

And there was heat again. Everything was slick and JJ’s tongue gave a lazy swirl, and for a brief heartbeat, Yuri forgot how to breathe. Forgot how to do anything except cry out in wordless urgency, and his hips rocked upwards, chasing after more of that pleasure. Every inch of his body felt desperate for more of this intoxication, more of this fire, more of this overwhelming bliss. 

JJ gave a low groan of approval, a sound that was part growl and part curse. His hand splayed across Yuri’s hip, pinning his body to the sheets. One thumb dragged idly across the sharp bone and tender skin, a gentle gesture to contrast with the easy strength with which he held the other boy down.

JJ’s lips slid up his shaft. His tongue curled around the head of Yuri’s cock in another languid swirl, before running beneath the tip, guided by every whimper and every strangled moan that spilled from the other boy’s lips. JJ tongued at the underside of his head, pressing against that tender vein, and then his lips were wrapped tight around Yuri’s length once more.

“Wa-wait,” Yuri gasped.

JJ paused immediately, and when he lifted his head, his brow was crinkled in concern. A thread of saliva ran from Yuri’s skin to JJ’s lower lip, glistening wet, and the Russian boy wanted to groan again - because no other man could look so deliciously wicked, kneeling between his legs.

“I’m gonna - I’m gonna come if - if you don’t slow down,” he managed to pant, struggling to regain his control, his composure, trying to steady the world that spun around him. 

This time, he caught a glimpse of the pleased grin curving JJ’s lips, the unapologetic sparkle in his hooded eyes as his rival arched one dark brow. His voice was pitched low, breath warm and teasing against such sensitive skin. “And what’s wrong with that?” JJ asked. “I’ve got you in my bed for the next hour, Yuri Plisetsky. I want to watch you come over and over again.”

And when JJ lowered his head again, he was determined. This time, it wasn’t just the heat of his mouth and the wet swirl of his tongue - he added the grip of his hand, palm sliding over slick skin - and the twinned sensations threatened to shatter him completely. 

“JJ,” Yuri said breathlessly, and the name tasted so lush against his tongue, wanton and sweet and dangerously forbidden. He could feel his body trembling, a slight shiver as the heat in his stomach began to spread. 

At the sound of his name, spoken with such desperation, JJ groaned around him, and the vibration sent another jolt of dazzling warmth through Yuri’s veins. He could feel it building, that ocean of pleasure - that storm of energy that crackled against his ribs, simmering flames and ravenous . He was drunk on rapture and JJ’s mouth around him, and the heat was intoxicating. Toes curling against the press of white sheets, and his fingers were tugging tight in JJ’s hair as the other boy moved faster, and oh god, it felt so fucking _good_ \- how was he supposed to last when JJ was making such obscene noises - wet and slick and sloppy -

JJ pulled him deep into his mouth - every inch surrounded by tight heat, pressing against him. And JJ gave another one of those moans, every vibration tingling through Yuri’s body, and he was looking up at him with such wicked eyes, those beautiful lips stretched wide around Yuri’s cock - 

And the ocean overflowed - pulled him down as waves crashed through every muscle, rising and cresting and falling away again. The world sparked white behind his eyelids, and Yuri knew he was crying out, body tensing and hips thrusting and he was coming, and he was drowning in ecstasy.

Afterwards, as Yuri lay gasping against the pillows, he heard JJ’s low chuckle, and he felt the other boy rise from between his legs. Everything was a delicious blur and his heart still pounded relentlessly as he forced his lashes to flutter open. JJ had shed his pants with wonderful ease, sitting back on his heels on the sheets before him, and all Yuri could do was stare at the man who had brought him such bliss.

In that moment, he knew he had never seen anything more beautiful.

The afternoon sunshine was muted beneath patches of grey clouds - and the golden light was bleached into something bright and pale, washed out and faded like the edges of a memory well-worn and well-loved. The shafts of light caught against dust motes that spun lazily through the air, spilling hazy silvered stars around them, dusting the world in a translucent wonder 

Yuri wanted to remember this always. The way JJ knelt on the bed before him, his shoulders straightened and his head held high, those blue eyes burning with hunger. The way the pale light haloed JJ’s body, how the windows at his back cast his face in shadow. A boy woven from sunshine and shadows, fierce beauty and wicked mischief. Something holy and sinful all at once. JJ was so familiar, the very same boy he had spent years loathing and mocking and hating - and the past few days actually getting to know.

Yet, the JJ before him was a new one. Something beautifully foreign that he had yet to explore, those half-lidded eyes filled with passion, his body radiating with the heat of sensuality and raw desire. His cock was standing hard between his legs, bigger and thicker than Yuri expected, already wet with pre-come, leaking in a way that sent a dangerous thrill whispering through his body. Naked before him. Just for him.

And Yuri’s heart gave a hitch, stuttering inside of his chest, and he didn't recognize the fierce emotion that filled him. There was a strange lump in the back of his throat that he couldn't seem to swallow. He didn't know that a person could feel so much _want_ all at once, couldn't understand how fragile bones could contain this ocean of wonder and desire and appreciation. He was drowning, yet JJ’s eyes kept him anchored.

“I don’t think I could ever get enough of this,” JJ whispered, his voice gone smokey and hoarse as he shifted, leaning down until their bodies were lined flush. He supported most of his weight on one arm, while the other brushed across Yuri’s face, tracing over parted lips, painting across the smooth curve of his slender neck. “You’re addictive.”

“Look who’s fuckin’ talking,” Yuri managed to reply, and his voice sounded gloriously wrecked, his accent even thicker under the heady daze of pleasure.

Then he pulled JJ down to claim his lips again. This time, the kisses weren't bruising or burning - but there was a languid sweetness that was just as intoxicating, just as dangerous in its power. Kisses that didn’t have the power to turn blood into ash - but luscious enough to drown a boy in its saccharine beauty. Who needed wine, who needed vodka? He could drink from JJ’s lips, find the most heady intoxication here in this sunlit bed.

JJ hadn't come yet, but Yuri could feel the tension in his body - the taunt coil of muscles that spoke of careful restraint. Yet in spite of the effort it must have took, the dark haired man showed no signs of urgency. Instead, he seemed content to savor those lazy kisses, as if every gentle caress was its own reward. As if there was nothing more important than this, luxuriating in each other. Savoring the way their bodies fit against each other, tasting every sweet sigh that tumbled from parted lips. Indulging in this moment of pleased satisfaction, this tender sense of wonder.

And slowly, beneath the cunning hands and sweet kisses of the Canadian boy, Yuri found himself hard again. Wanting again. Aching again.

Desire should have fled completely. Yet, it still lingered, glowing embers fanning into flames once more. The fever beneath his skin hadn't broken. It should have faded in its intensity - yet in its rebirth, it had only grown stronger. This hunger curling its way over his spine, this desperate _need_ to press himself as close to JJ as possible, to taste every inch of skin, to twine their bodies together until they became one, to let the hunger consume them and bloom into the most exquisite joy. 

How did JJ manage to do this to him?

“Tu me rends fou,” he heard JJ mumble into the curve of his neck, and the ache drawn in those words was sweeter, more potent than any champagne.

How could he resist the temptation of that voice, painted with such desperation? Yuri reached down, slender fingers curling around JJ’s cock. Marveling over how soft his skin could feel over such hardness, smirking over the way JJ gasped out his name when he gave a single experimental stroke. He could feel JJ trembling above him as his palm began to move, slow and teasing.

“Wait.” This time, the word came from JJ’s mouth, thick and heavy as it was panted against his skin.

JJ brought his hand up to his own lips, and Yuri watched, mesmerized, as that talented tongue licked a path of wetness across one palm. There was a shift of JJ’s hips, and suddenly, the older boy lowered his arm, guiding Yuri’s hand until the blond boy was holding both of their cocks in his palm. JJ mirrored his hold with that slick hand, and suddenly, they were stroking together. 

“Oh shit,” Yuri gasped, a sound that was half whimper and half groan. 

Every stroke was pulling him deeper into this haze of pleasure. Slick with saliva and the thick beads of pre-cum, and Yuri knew they were feeling this same pleasure, tasting the same ecstasy. Feeling JJ’s cock against his was a new sensation, just shy of overwhelming, and everything was tight and wet and every nerve was sparking again. He could hear his own breath echo in his ears, quick pants as he gasped for air. His free hand reached up to clutch at JJ’s shoulder, blunt nails dragging down honeyed flesh. 

This was too much. This was not enough. This was everything. 

The world seemed to fracture around them, and nothing else existed except this. Except the moans that tumbled from JJ’s lips. The sweat that clung to their flushed skin, hot and damp as they clutched each other tightly. Language seemed to have splintered into a tangle of Russian and French gasped against fevered flesh, hips thrusting into joined palms, foreheads pressed against each other. It was a delirium of desire, the most beautiful kind of madness. Lost in each other. A storm was building within them, between them, relentless in its urgency - and he could feel the lightning curling in his blood, could feel rapture growing stronger, and they were hurtling towards the edge of something - he was so fucking _close_

Yuri heard JJ’s choked cry - a hoarse sound as wet warmth spilled over their fingers, and that was enough to push him over the edge, to send him spiraling into ecstasy. Every nerve seemed to fire at once - a flare of light behind his closed eyes and the world was spinning and JJ’s name filled his mouth as the shockwaves of pleasure shuddered through them both.

How long did it take for the world to right itself again? For his heartbeat to settle, to calm its frantic slam-dance inside of his chest? For his breathing to soothe away its ragged edges, no longer gulping in serrated gasps. For the blur of the room to suddenly define itself once more, details reinserting themselves into his vision. Reminding him that they weren’t in their own little world of burning kisses and scorching moans - they were two sweaty boys, draped in JJ’s bed in JJ’s room.

“Fuck,” JJ gasped, flinging himself down upon the soft sheets beside him. Yuri couldn’t felt the thrill of satisfaction at the sight of the other boy’s face - blue eyes wide and dazed, breath shuddering through his strong body, looking just as wrecked as he felt. Wrecked and gloriously happy. 

They were both still gasping for steady breath as JJ lifted one arm in silent invitation.

“We’re all sweaty and gross,” Yuri complained, but there was no real bite to his words. He settled himself against the other boy, marveling quietly over the way their bodies fit together. The way his head nestled perfectly against JJ’s chest, sweaty skin pressed against sweaty skin, feet tangling themselves into a gentle knot.

It was hard to grumble too hard - not when his heart was still racing, not when his skin was still flushed and painted from the heat of their passion. Not when every muscle felt loose. Yuri had been Atlas, carrying a world of tension on his slender shoulders - and for the first time in what felt like years, every inch of his body felt soft and relaxed. 

One of JJ’s arms was curved around his body, guitar-calloused fingertips tracing idle patterns against the creamy skin of Yuri’s hip. His other hand was lifted to brush itself through the gold of Yuri’s hair, combing gently through the sweat-dampened tendrils. Yuri made a pleased purring noise, nuzzling closer against the other boy’s skin. He could hear the steady pulse of JJ’s heart beneath his ear and its hypnotic song was thick as honey, strong and beautiful.

He was warm and drowsy, cumdrunk and heavy-lashed. 

“You falling asleep on me, chaton?” He heard JJ murmur.

“I can’t fall asleep,” Yuri managed to reply, though the words felt thick against his tongue. Sleep sounded perfect. The last thing he wanted to do was to return to the real world with all of its stupid fucking demands and annoying gossip. “I probably should get going in a few. Gotta get ready for the banquet.”

“Five more minutes?” JJ asked, and Yuri managed to pry open one heavy eye to peer up at the other boy. There was no mistaking the supplication of his voice - which perfectly matched the pleading puppy-dog eyes looking down at him. Yet the pleading expression was almost ruined by the smile that lurked at the edges of JJ’s lips. “I don’t want to let you go just yet.” 

Yuri rolled his eyes - but he couldn’t help the answering smile flickering across his face. He turned his head to hide the smile against JJ’s skin. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled, letting his lashes settle closed once more.

He felt the brush of JJ’s lips pressing a soft kiss against his damp hair. Felt the breath of words spill like a sigh against the skin of his temple, sweet and tender and infinitely gentle. “Je pourrais rester heureux toute ma vie, tant que tu seras a mes cotes.” 

The words were a handful of pearls, shimmering with a beautiful iridescence that Yuri couldn’t see but could sense against his skin like the touch of JJ’s hand, filled with _something_ warm he couldn’t quite place.

A faint murmur like a confession or the whisper of a prayer, offered up towards the stars and the heavens above them.

“You’re not going to tell me what that means, are you?” Yuri asked, more accusation than question. He already knew the answer. 

JJ laughed softly against his hair, his arms tightening around the younger man. “Maybe I’ll tell you someday,” he said quietly. Then Yuri heard the smile fade from his voice, tapering into a bare murmur. “If everything works out.”

Those last words were edged with softness, cradling a quiet ribbon of sadness that lingered like smoke above their heads. It was a sobering statement, a melancholy reminder that fractured through this soft, warm glow. Yuri felt an ache in his chest, a whisper of dread uncurling like a dark-petaled rose in the black pit of his stomach. It was enough to chase away the drowsiness that weighted his limbs and clung to his thoughts like strands of gossamer. Suddenly, he felt too awake. But he still closed his eyes tightly, pressing his body tighter against JJ’s. As if the tanned arms wrapped around him, painted with familiar dark ink and radiating warmth, were strong enough to to keep the stark coldness of reality at bay. 

He wasn’t ready to face it just yet. 

He didn’t know what was going to happen. All Yuri knew was the warmth of JJ’s fingers, brushing tenderly across the tendrils of hair that spilled across his shoulder blades. All he knew was the steady heart-beat throbbing beneath his ear, whispering against the whirls of his fingertips. All he knew was this peaceful stillness, the soft whispers of their breath mingling as the minutes melted away too quickly. He wanted to savor this sweetness a little longer.

Here in this room, they were two boys with pounding hearts and limbs intertwined, lazy with the aftershocks of pleasure. Fingers brushing against soft skin, tracing over veins and freckles and the curve of sinews. Lost in these precious stolen moments, lost in each other, lost in this daydream of what could be. 

But he knew that outside of those windows, under the darkening afternoon sky, the world was waiting for them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we all know my French skills are zero. But when JJ is speaking French, he shooooould be saying:
> 
> "Tu me rends fou" - You Drive Me Wild  
> "Je pourrais rester heureux toute ma vie, tant que tu seras a mes cotes" - I could be happy my whole life, as long as you were by my side.
> 
> Also. Sidenote: Oh my gosh. You guys. I have a whole new appreciation for all of those who write smut! This was my very first time and it was soooo much more complicated and difficult than I expected! You smut-makers have extra skills and get all of the salutes from me! Side-side-note: The next chapter is complete but I'm gonna be busy with birthday celebrations this week, so it probably won't be posted for another weekish or so! But I promise, I'll post it as soon as I can! <3 <3 <3


	13. Champagne and Secrets

The banquet hall felt extra beautiful this year, Yuri had thought when he first slipped into the ballroom. He had attended dozens of galas over the years until they began to blend together behind his closed lashes, each one a blur of never-ending boredom and agonizing small-talk. 

There was no boredom now. 

Tables were draped in pale white silk, like a dozen full moons sprouting plates and sparkling silverware, each one crammed with handfuls of chairs. On the opposite side of the room, a small DJ booth had been set up and space had been cleared away to allow a crude dancefloor, which was already beginning to fill as alcohol flowed freely and celebrations began in earnest.

Everywhere he looked, there were flashes of light - bulbs flaring like a thousand fireflies fluttering through the dimness. Reporters with bulky cameras and heavy lenses, coaches with old point-and-shoot equipment, skaters with cellphones held high to immortalize one more night with their friends and colleagues. Everyone became a starlet walking on a ribbon of red carpet, 

There was Chris in a suit of charcoal grey, his fingers curled around the neck of an entire champagne bottle, his eyes bright and laughing. There was Mila in white chiffon, looking like both the moth and the flame, all powdered ivory and bright wildfire. Sara clad in a velvet dress that clung to her thighs, cranberry red against tan skin. 

The laughter was loud and genial and seemed to fill every corner of the banquet hall. Yet beneath the boisterous noise, there was a soft discordant note - a hum of discomfort, an undercurrent of unpleasantness that sent his teeth on edge.

At first, the night had seemed filled with possibility. Yuri had entered the banquet hall with a faint smile lurking at the edges of his lips. He knew that he cut a striking figure, clad entirely in black. From the tips of his boots to his tuxedo jacket to the button up shirt beneath, even the satin bow tie beneath his throat was spun from midnight darkness. Yet his pale hair flowed freely, cascading down his shoulders in a curtain of silvered-gold. 

There was no evidence of the afternoon tryst. The tangles had been washed from Yuri’s hair, the sweat rinsed from his body. Yet he could still feel the memory of JJ against his skin. The echo of JJ’s fingers tracing down his chest, the scrape of teeth against the curve of his neck, the wet warmth of tongue against his pulse. He could still hear the sound of JJ’s gasps, twining through his own moans - just remembering it was enough to cause his heart to pound faster, thrumming within his chest. 

Yuri was aware of JJ’s presence across the room, as if there were a fine thread stretching in the air between them, a silvered cord of spider silk that thrummed gently between their bodies. It felt like another game, this dance of avoidance as they hugged the walls on opposite corners, never daring to come too close - yet always aware, tuned to each other’s being. 

It wasn't easy, this silent charade they played. His body ached to approach the Canadian boy, to hear the purr of JJ’s voice brush velvet against his ears, wanted to grab him by the tie and pull him down for a kiss. But they weren't even friends. They never had been. They had always been Rivals, both on and off the ice. And with the weight of Scandal looming over their heads like a silver glinting guillotine - the distance was more important than ever. Yet it was harder than Yuri had ever expected it be.

Yuri couldn't help but cast sidelong glances at the other boy, watching as JJ mingled through the crowd with that smooth confidence he envied. He caught glimpses of laughter and wide grins, hands slapping against shoulder-blades with such warm ease - and a few times, he caught those blue eyes themselves, staring back at him while they glittered with mirth, lips curved into a secret little smile meant for Yuri alone. 

But Yuri was conscious of more than just JJ. He was aware of the murmurs at the edges of his hearing - those faint whispers and quiet titters that sounded more like bullets shot through the darkness. Harsh and dangerous. The clicks of the tongue, the soft, shocked gasps. It wasn’t hard to grasp the topic of conversation, not when the whispers made the hairs on his arms prickle and raise with discomfort.

“Did you see -” The faint whispers brushed like sandpaper against his ears - coarse and irritating. Everywhere he turned, Yuri caught the soft scraps of conversation - the gentle murmurs painted with surprise and a cruel-edged delight.

“Together?” He could hear the shocked clicks of the tongue, the quiet laughter that tittered with amusement. Yuri wanted to snarl at them, to shout at everyone who dared to carry his name upon their tongue, who thought his business could possibly concern them.

“He’ll get bored soon-” He couldn’t seem to shut his ears to those sounds, flickering madly at the edges of his hearing. Yet every time Yuri’s eyes swept towards the speaker, the soft whispers were drowned beneath loud shushes, fading into awkward silences and uneasy chuckles.

Yuri could feel the uncomfortable prickle of eyes upon him, the weight of a community’s curiosity. Last night, he had reigned as the Champion of the world. Tonight, with the gold medal to his name, he was nothing more than the meat of a juicy story. And everywhere he glanced, it felt like he could see shark-toothed smiles hidden behind graceful palms. They could smell the blood in the water. They could taste the threat of a delicious scandal - and how could they resist? The handsome Canadian playboy publicly linked with the Russian Faerie, such a notorious loner? The two biggest rivals in the current skating federation?

He had to keep skirting the same questions. “No comment,” Yuri had to repeat over and over again, an endless litany filled with growing annoyance. Lilia and Yakov managed to waylay the worst of the reporters, but that didn’t stop the questions from the skaters he was closest to. Everyone had seen the video. Everyone was curious. Even if they were polite enough to speak of other topics, he could still see the sparks of curiosity in their eyes - could still hear the unspoken questions clinging silently to their tongues.

It was fucking annoying. 

Yuri kept his face a perfect mask of boredom, not caring if he seemed aloof. Not caring if his voice sounded chipped from ice, heavy with disdain. It was better to be painted as an unfeeling prince with ice in his blood. Even if his veins danced with irritation, even when his fists clenched beneath the simmering warmth of rage - to lash out would only give credence to the rumors. It would only add fuel to these fucked up fires. So Yuri managed to swallow back every tempting curse, keeping his green eyes glazed with perfect indifference.. _Nothing you say can touch me,_ his attitude said. _Nothing you say matters._

It was emphasized by the way he sat at an otherwise empty table, his long legs stretched outwards in a lazy, blase manner. Yuri was a bored lordling reclined back on a restless throne, occasionally stretching his lips wide around an apathetic yawn. Only the handful of empty champagne glasses spread before him gave evidence to his true feelings - as if he could drown the rage and discomfort beneath sparkling wine. But it was impossible to keep from drinking, not when every few minutes, his solitude was broken by yet another curious skater.

A server was passing by, and Yuri managed to grab another flute of champagne, wishing for something far more stronger. He didn’t want bubbles, sweet dryness spreading across his tongue. He wanted to feel the burn. Maybe that would help ease the tension that trembled through every muscle, sinews coiled so tightly that they ached. He felt like a viper, coiled and ready to strike, ready to sink dagger-toothed fangs into anyone deemed a threat. 

Mila approached, arching a ginger eyebrow at the sight of the champagne in his hand, and the empty glasses around him. Yet she wisely said nothing. She did not scold, simply slid her lithe form into the empty chair beside him. 

“Just get through tonight,” she murmured gently, going so far as to lay one hand against his fingers. Her touch was cool against his fevered skin. “Tomorrow we go home and we’ll leave this entire circus behind.”

Yuri gritted his teeth, wanting to ignore the ache in his chest at the thought. It made his stomach twist upon itself, looping itself into elaborate knots and pulling tight. It was a physical discomfort. Sure, he couldn’t wait to leave behind the army of cameras and the whispers of vultures - he couldn’t wait to return to his quiet life back in St. Petersburg. But what did that mean for him and JJ - and whatever this thing was that was growing between them? Now he knew the taste of JJ’s skin and the drowsy warmth of entangled limbs. Now he had memorized the sound of that loud, dorky laugh. Now he found some strange comfort in the heat of JJ’s warm grin. Stepping onto a plane that would bring them onto opposite ends of the world - it wasn’t a thought that he relished.

Mila watched him carefully. Her bright eyes, usually sparking with mischief, saw too much when it came to her unofficial little brother. So he shrugged instead, looking away from her sharp gaze.

“I’m counting the hours,” Yuri said dryly before taking another sip from his glass, hoping it would explain the sudden warmth flushing cheeks.

She dropped her voice into a low velvet undertone, a wicked smile curving her lips, “I can’t fault your taste, Yura. He does look awfully good in a pair of leather pants.”

Yuri couldn’t help the bark of laughter that erupted from his mouth, even if it meant almost choking on the mouthful of champagne he had barely had a chance to swallow. 

Mira gave him a wink, pleased at having sparked a sound of amusement from the Ice Tiger. “I’m going to go talk to Georgi,” she said, rising to her feet. “He’s been dying to check on you - you know him. Ever the worrywart. I’ll let him know you’re doing okay.”

She reached out, her longer slender fingers reaching out to ruffle against his hair.

Yuri lifted his champagne glass into a little salute of goodbye, and Mila was gone. Some of the tangle in his chest had loosened, as if his laughter was woven from flames to banish away the worst of the shadows. At least, he no longer felt like punching something. He could breathe a little easier, and he found himself grateful for this blissful moment of solitude, sitting alone at the empty table. Perhaps he’d get a few minutes to himself where he didn’t have to paste on a bored mask or answer infuriating questions.

It was a wish destined to go unfulfilled.

Yuri’s eyebrows rose when Viktor slid into the seat near him. Yuuri followed at his fiance’s side, barely disguising a limp from overused muscles, and he sank into his chair with a familiar exhaustion that Yuri recognized. 

How many more years did he have left? Yuri wondered as he watched the older man hide a wince. Not many, he realized with a tiny flutter of shock. Yuuri was past the prime of his skating career, and although he could keep fighting for several years yet – his body betrayed his age, unable to withstand the rigors of skating the way the younger generation could. This was Christophe’s last season… How many until Yuuri was forced to retire as well?

Viktor just looked at him, one hand folded under his chin, studying Yuri in silence. There was a flush on the older man’s cheeks, a glass of champagne cradled in his other hand. Viktor wasn't dancing yet, and so far, all clothing remained buttoned and zipped in the proper fashion.. But the night was still young, the champagne was flowing freely, and Christophe was ensuring his last banquet would be a memorable one indeed. It was almost inevitable.

“What do you guys want?' Yuri asked, almost amused when the silence grew too long for his comfort. It was a relief to see their familiar faces after this whirlwind week - and strange to realize how little they had seen of each other during the competition. Too often in the past, he had felt like a third wheel, forced to tag-along behind the ever-passionate lovebirds. “Did you come to congratulate me?”

He couldn’t help the smug smile spreading over his face, the pleased purr in his voice. In spite of all the fuckery around him, victory still tasted so sweet, its own intoxicating elixir bursting against his tongue. And it would taste even sweetest after hearing praise from Viktor. How many years had Yuri dreamed of this moment? This exact moment? When he would finally claim Viktor’s title of World Champion, when he would finally step out from the other man’s shadow and claim his rightful place at the forefront of everyone’s hearts? As a child, Yuri had watched Viktor’s performances with all of the obsession of a young disciple. He had dreamed of standing before Viktor, dreamed of feeling the weight of a warm palm against his shoulder, recognizing him not as a child, but a fellow skater in his own right. Recognized as an equal. 

Yuri leaned forward, eager to hear approval from the lips of the man who had once been his greatest hero. 

Viktor sighed. “I wanted to tell you to be careful,” he said. And his voice was soft, a murmur too low to be heard from those nearby. Yet for such a quiet voice... It rang loud in Yuri's ears, echoing against his skull.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Yuri said slowly, cautiously. His lips tilted into a frown, eyes narrowing slightly as he stared at Viktor. But he was lying. Already, he knew exactly what this was. And exactly why Viktor had decided to hold this conversation in public, in hopes that Yuri wouldn’t create a scene. As if an audience had ever stopped him before.

Disappointment was sour in the back of his throat.

Viktor reached up, brushing a silvered strand away from his forehead. “I think you do, Yura,” he said gently. “Look... You're an adult now. You can make your own decisions. But you’re old enough to recognize consequences.”

There was no disguising the concern hushed through the older man’s voice.

Yuri groaned, letting his head fall backwards with a heavy sigh and the hints of an exasperated laugh. “Fucking perfect.” He closed his eyes for a long moment, before lifting his head again. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots. “Yakov asked you to talk to me,” he observed.

To his credit, Yuuri flushed exquisitely, casting a nervous glance at Viktor. He was never good at lying. His heart was too honest, painted across his face for the world to see. He wasn’t like Viktor, who could read into people’s hearts and see exactly what buttons to push, who could keep a perfect smile on his lips, even if a pretty lie tilted from his tongue in the name of a good cause. But Yuuri’s sweet empathy was its own dangerous weapon.

“We’re all worried about you,” the Japanese man murmured, leaning closer. It was true. His dark brows were knit together, his brown eyes wide and luminous, his fingers tugging restlessly at one of the napkins before him. His voice was quiet and gentle, yet distress shone clearly in his open gaze.

And in spite of himself, Yuri found his eyes flickering across the room. Finding the familiar broad shoulders, the dark sweep of hair. JJ had been pulled onto the dance floor once again, this time by the young ice dancer from America. In spite of the terrible pop music crackling over the speakers, they had taken a page out of the past, and were drawing all sorts of attention. Their elbows bending and arms swinging and knees jingling as they whirled across the dance floor. 

Yuri wanted to snort, wanted to roll his eyes in fond exasperation. JJ should have looked like a total dork because who fucking learned how to dance like that anymore? But that was JJ. Determined to have fun, he was too busy laughing at his partner to feel even a glimmer of embarrassment. The rainbowed lights swept over her light brown hair, crowning her in a halo of fractured colors, but her smile was just as wide as the Canadian boy at her side, white teeth flashing against ruby lips.

The Russian boy felt a glimmer of jealousy, watching the way her hand reached out to brush gentle fingers down JJ’s arm, the way her lashes fell in a flirtatious flutter. But Yuri knew what JJ was doing.

_Look at me,_ the other skater was saying to them all. And everyone was. Because who could tear their eyes away from those strong shoulders, that fierce laughing grin, the strength of his joy. Dancing with a string of pretty girls on the dancefloor made it so easy to doubt the scandal that whispered around him. Wasn’t he the pretty playboy who had a different lover every day? Who could ever believe he was involved with Yuri?

But Yuri could still hear the murmur of JJ’s moans in his memory. On his hip, he could still feel the tender ache where a reddened-bruise had bloomed beneath JJ’s lips, a mark to mirror the one he bore himself.

As if the other boy could sense his gaze like a physical touch, JJ looked over his shoulder – and that brilliant smile spread across his face when he met Yuri's eyes from across the room. Throwing a wink like a bouquet, a thick bundle of forget-me-nots tied with ribbon.

Yuuri followed Yuri's gaze, and there was a hint of sadness brushing fingers over his words as they both watched the two dancers beyond them. “We all know what he's like. He might be a playboy, but he is my friend too, Yuri,” he said softly. “So don't think I'm judging... But you're different. You’re not the type to play those kinds of games.”

_You know what he's like?_ Yuri wanted to snarl. _Have you ever seen that sleepy-sweet smile when he first wakes up? He likes making people happy, but he’s the first person who ever fought at my side. When he kisses me, I feel like I’ve been starving my entire life. You know nothing, Katsudon._

On the dancefloor, Yuri watched as JJ took the dancer-girl’s hand, strong palms folding over slender fingers. She was tucked close to his chest for a brief moment - and then he sent her spinning outwards. Her skirt whirled high in a perfect circle around her thighs - the flutter of wings as she whirled beneath the kaleidscopic lights, painting rainbowed stars across her fair skin. A pretty ballerina who could have been prancing on the tips of clouds with wind in her hair - instead of a scratched and waxed dance floor. JJ didn’t let go of her hand - and she came spinning back into his arms. The world burst into appreciative laughter.

Yuri’s heart was pounding hard, too hard against his ribcage. And a vague ill feeling was spreading through his stomach. “People change,” he said, and even as the words fell from his lips, he wanted to call them back. They rang with a hollow defensiveness, just a little too sharp at the edges. He could hear how pathetic they sounded.

Yuuri nodded his head. “True,” he admitted, and his dark brown eyes were pools of worry. And there was so much compassion and sorrow in their depths, it made Yuri feel as if he was drowning. His heart was pounding faster. “Some people change. And some people don't. Just be careful. Please. We don’t want to see you get hurt.”

There was a moment of silence before Viktor leaned forward, his head tilting gently. “Yura.... Is he truly worth risking it all?”

It was a strike that hit home.

“Mind your own fucking business, Viktor,” he snapped, fury causing him to slip back into his native Russian. He couldn't breathe around the sick dread in his veins, he couldn't think -

His voice was too loud in the dignified banquet hall – a harsh tangle of syllables that snarled through the laughter, tore through the music and somehow left a strange quietness in its wake. He could feel a hundred different eyes flash in their direction – their gazes mirrored with confusion and curiosity.

Across the room, he could see JJ's frown – those dark brows furrowed with concern – and the larger boy took a step forward. Ready to rush to Yuri's side, clearly able to read the distress painted across Yuri's face. His dance partner stood forgotten at his side, her pretty face wrinkled into pure bewilderment, her lips tilted down into a faint frown. Luckily, Christophe stood nearby, and his quick bright eyes read the situation all too clearly. One strong hand reached out to grasp the Canadian's arm – holding him in place. That would only confirm the rumors, further wood for the flames.

Viktor's voice was gentle this time, softened with concern as he slipped into Russian as well. Barely a murmur. But it held a world of sadness. “Do you think he deserves to be a secret?”

Yuri felt his entire body shudder and then simply freeze in place, as if those words were a knife blade tracing over his throat. Perhaps that explained the ache in his chest that suddenly sprouted, or the way his throat felt swollen with a fistful of thorns, making every swallow painful. His moon-kissed skin was blanched even paler, as if the rubies of his blood had drained until only a sickening ash lay in its wake. For a moment, he couldn't even breathe.

“Don't do this, Vitya,” he choked out the whisper. Hating the way is spilled forth like a plea, the way the words trembled and cracked in his throat. “Don't you fucking turn on me too.”

All he could do was stare at JJ from across the room, green eyes locked with blue. The rest of the room seemed to disappear – a blur of colors on the edge of his vision, and he couldn't even begin to guess what expression his own eyes held. All he could see was JJ's troubled face, growing more worried by the second. All he could hear were Victor's haunting words, barreling forth with ruthless truth, a quiet Russian whisper for his ears alone.

“That's all he'll ever be able to be,” Viktor whispered. “Always hiding. Always lying. Always praying to not be discovered. Never free. Unless you want to leave Russia, like I did. Yurochka... He deserves better than that. You both deserve better than that.”

A secret like Sara. Three years worth of memories mingled with love, forever unrecognized. Remembering last night at the club, the ache in Mila's eyes as she watched Sara's fingers trail across the arm of a poor idiot on the dance floor. The way her fire-bright smile had lacked its usual vibrancy, instead twisted brittle and hollow, and when the lights caught against the blue of her eyes, they held a tell-tale shimmer of wetness that was quickly hidden beneath lowered lashes. Yuri knew how much it hurt them both. In spite of the love they bore, the weight of their secret was suffocating them both.

Could he bear to watch JJ shoulder such weight? The Canadian skater was a creature spun from laughter and mischief, teasing and strength. Honest to a fault. Unapologetically so. That was what JJ was. What he had always been. He had built JJ-style, his entire skating career, out of being true to himself. He shared his heart, his life with the world. He never apologized for being himself, he never tried to offer explanations for his lovers or defended his choices. He was who he was, and he didn’t hide it from the world. 

Yuri was asking JJ to live a lie. 

“How long can you keep it up? Secrets always come to surface, sooner or later.” Viktor’s voice was relentless. “What happens to the others who are depending on you? If you lose your sponsors, if you can no longer skate… What happens to your family then? You can’t just think of yourself.”

How could such soft words contain all of the destruction of a missile - each syllable hurtling through the air, straight towards their target? Exploding in a burst of truth that cut across Yuri’s heart like shrapnel, exposing every fear he had fought to keep buried? Yakov and Lilia had said much the same thing - but he was used to going against his coaches in minor ways. This was different. This was Viktor. This was Yuuri.   
The truth, spoken in Viktor’s honeyed voice, accompanied by Yuuri’s anxious eyes - 

In that moment, Yuri hated Viktor. He even hated Katsudon with an intensity he had never felt before, a fierce bitterness that made his ribs feel twisted and scorched, made his head swim dizzily. Loathing tasted like gunmetal bruising his tongue and he wanted to hurl his words like bullets, wanted to watch those bright blue eyes twist into pain. If he could have destroyed them both in that moment, if he could have torn their perfect world into shreds, he would have done so.

The unfairness of it all stole Yuri’s breath away, made the oxygen choke against the back of this throat before he could drag it into his lungs. How could Viktor look at him with such guileless eyes, those silvered lashes flared wide with worry? Every argument was shrouded with the pretense of concern and yet each sentence was shadowed with the same warning.

How could he _say_ those things? Viktor didn't even seem to realize the audacity of his actions – the way he warned Yuri about the mistakes of choosing JJ, the hardships it could cause for everyone – while his fingers were woven together with his fiance's. How could he, of all people, warn him of secrets and consequence? 

If it had been anyone other than JJ, would the conversation be any different? Would the warning that called for caution be tempered with gentle support? The same show of quiet encouragement and approval that the two older man had received from their community of friends? 

But Viktor had never been a fan of the Canadian skater, not since that fatal meeting in Barcelona three years ago. He could put a stiff smile on his face in public, could speak with polite gravity when needed - yet his distaste for JJ had never been a secret. Though it had never been as bright and blatant as Yuri’s own disgust, paraded in public for every other skater to see. Of course, Viktor would never approve. 

Yuri’s own palms ached in their emptiness – fingers itching for the strength of honeyed skin and calloused fingertips, aching for JJ's steadiness beside him, ached for the obnoxious grin painted with overconfidence. He felt overwhelmed. He was suffocating.

“If you’re not careful, you could lose everything -”

He couldn’t listen to another word.

Yuri rose to his feet, his chair slamming back with a little more force than necessary. His fingers tightened their grip around the fragile curve of the wine glass, and he brought it up to his lips. Threw back his head and swallowed the champagne in one large gulp, felt the dry crispness spread across his tongue and curl tendrils of warmth down his chest. As if he could drown the flames of his ire beneath the pearlescent bubbles of champagne – as if the alcohol could quench the bitterness pervading through his veins.

He slammed the empty glass down back on the table, and the emerald of his eyes burned with an flickering flame – sharp and furious.Yuri turned the full force of his glare onto the men before him. 

“I'm not your fucking child, Vitya,” he snarled. “So you go and enjoy your happily-ever-fucking-after and stay out of my goddamned life. Both of you.”

The shock in their eyes felt like a twisted sort of victory as he stormed away.

Yuri slipped out of the building, leaving the riot of laughter and music and light behind. After the warmth of the party, the cool breeze of the spring night felt refreshing as it ran fingers over his cheeks. He could feel a light prickle against his skin – faint rain drops that felt more like starlight than water, the lightest of mists descending from the sky.

The world outside looked vastly different from the dim lights of the banquet hall, with its warm chandeliers and the dance-lights that cast shimmers of azure and amethyst over everyone’s bodies. Out here, the world was pitched in darkness. There were no stars blanketing the night sky - even the moon had hidden its silver smile. Instead, the darkness was painted with a thick fog, as if the daylight clouds had fallen from the heavens to hug the earth. It felt as if Yuri had stumbled into a completely different world, where there were no trees or steel-welded cars or crowds of people.

There was only fog, like cold smoke to curl around him. There was only a silence so heavy, it almost seemed to echo in his ears. And Yuri walked into it gratefully, letting it guide him away from the banquet-hall’s backdoor. He followed the edge of the building with its brick-stone wall, and after only a few dozen feet, he could no longer see the door at all. At least the fog gave him the semblance of privacy. 

Rage still simmered beneath his skin, and there was a bitter taste flooding against his tongue, and it was too hard to breathe. His chest felt too tight, rib bones twisting into bands of steel that refused to let his lungs inflate, refused to allow him to do anything more than drag shallow gasps of oxygen into his throat. He could still hear their words echoing in his mind.

_Do you think he deserves to be kept a secret?_

Nausea gripped Yuri’s stomach, sinking hooks beneath his skin as if it could pull him down beneath the wave of dizziness that followed. His mouth felt too dry and he still couldn't breathe - which didn't seem possible because he could _feel_ the frantic way he was panting, so quick and desperate. Why did it feel like he was drowning?

_What happens to your family?_

“Fuck!” His lips peeled back into a snarl - pearlescent teeth clenched into a fang-toothed grimace as he hurled the curse into the darkness. He wanted to break something, wanted to shatter everything around him, wanted to scream until his throat burst into blood that he could spit against the cracked sidewalk, wanted to burn everything down until all that remained was ash.

Yuri snapped. Fingers curled into tight fists, and suddenly, he hurled himself at the unforgiving wall, swinging wildly. His feet kicked at the brick, fists swinging into one punch, two punch, three - but the pain was just a flare that tasted too much like the burnt copper rage on his lips.

And suddenly, he was slumped against the wall - was suddenly aware of each jagged shard of brick pressed uncomfortably against his palms.. He didn't even feel it happening - didn't notice the buckle of his own legs beneath the force of his dizziness - hadn't noticed his hands cling to brick to keep him from falling to the wet ground. 

Yuri twisted his body until brick pressed against his spine, and he finally allowed himself to give in to gravity, sliding downwards until his knees were curled close to his chest. His teeth clenched so tightly together, he could feel an ache in his jaw. His knuckles - already scraped raw from the night before - were torn open afresh, beads of scarlet welling up, threatening to river down the back of his hands. Bruised and swollen and ugly, he’d be lucky if nothing was broken. 

“Fuck,” he said again. This time, it was a whisper, something lost and broken as it spilled from his lips. 

Yuri knew he was being ridiculous. He knew it was childish, to let Viktor’s words get under his skin, syllables turned into thorns that worried themselves deeper, nestled against the needled comments so fresh from his coaches. They spoke out of worry - a heavy concern born from love and a desire to protect him - but that did little to ease the burn of bitterness scorching his throat.

Because he knew that they spoke the truth. 

Skating was all he had ever known. It was all that he had worked towards, all that he had ever wanted. It was all that he was. He had been a young prodigy, breathing silver-skates and cold ice as if they were oxygen - and so many had helped to sharpen his skills, had helped guide him along this lonely path. What would he have left without skating?

Yuri knew why they were worried. If the truth emerged… He could say good-bye to his sponsers. He couldn’t guarantee his career would recover. He couldn’t guarantee further victories. And he counted on those sponsorship deals and competitive winnings. A sliver went towards his coaching fees. His own studio apartment near the rink. But a majority of every ruble earned had always gone to his family. His grandfather had worked as hard as he could, until age had twisted his knuckles and crippled his back, and Yuri couldn’t watch as the older man tore himself apart in order to support their family. So he had taken on that responsibility. Every victory was devoted to improving the lives of the ones he loved. When his grandfather had gotten ill, he had bled his savings into medical bills. After his passing, Yuri’s responsibilities hadn't decreased. There was always his mother. It wasn’t cheap, paying for the house in Moscow. The two nurses who were her constant companions, one devoted to daylight care, and the other keeping watch throughout the night. Then there were doctors’ appointments and the endless medicine, those tiny pills that were supposed to help keep her world stable, to prevent reality from fracturing between her fingers. What else was he supposed to do? She had no one else but him. 

Yuri wanted to throw up.

How the fuck could he support her if he couldn't skate? He wasn't like JJ, who sang in bands and wrote boots and had his own clothing line. JJ had sponsors, but he didn't depend on them. But Yuri? He was just a teenage kid with no other skills except on the ice. He couldn't exactly waltz into an office and demand a salary-gig. He couldn’t exactly get a gig flipping burgers and expect to make a dent in the expenses she needed.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

He wanted JJ. He knew that he shouldn’t, not with everything that he could lose. But that didn't change this yearning. He wanted the chance to see what this was, to see what they could be. And yet Viktor was right. Wasn’t this a desire born out of his own selfishness? Wanting something that would only hurt everyone around him? Wasn’t that as selfish as a person could get? 

Yuri bowed his head and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes until the darkness beneath his lids burst into strange technicolor shapes, a kaleidoscope of brightness against such vivid black. There was a steady pain radiating from his fist - knuckles protesting and already purpling from their attempt to battle brick. The pain wasn’t bad, though. It was enough to distract him, at least. Enough to allow the tight bands of steel to loosen their grip around his chest - leaving behind a curious sense of calm. It was the strange stillness after a passing storm, when violent skies have faded into a restrained grey haze, leaving only a gentle rain to fall over the devastation left behind. 

He felt exhausted. 

It should have been almost cold with only his tuxedo jacket around his shoulders – but the champagne that bubbled in his veins kept him warm. At least the air outside was fresh. It was getting easier to breathe out here, and Yuri drew in a long, steady breath, letting the air bloom into his lungs. The world was settling again.

That’s when he heard the sound. The faint squeal of a door opening, metal scraping against cement. And then came the whisper of feet, the soles of shoes brushing over the damp sidewalk. 

He had just enough time to scramble to his feet, to scrub the back of his sleeve over his burning eyes and pretend that he hadn’t just been attacking a fucking wall like a child throwing a tantrum.

“Yuri?”

The Russian boy closed his eyes at the sound of his name, the way JJ's tongue cradled the syllables as if he was savoring their taste. As if their sound was a song, a hymn to the heavens. It came as a question, soft and hesitant, yet still somehow filled with a reverence that startled him.

Of course, JJ would follow him outside. Part of him had known he would. Or at least had hoped he would. Which was stupid. All of this was stupid. He knew better. There was that selfishness again. 

But when Yuri opened his eyes again… There stood JJ. Emerging from the mist like a spirit, clad in dark fabric and blue-eyes burnt almost black beneath the night sky. With JJ before him... It was so easy to forget his own foolishness. He couldn't help the way his heart skittered inside of his chest, missing a complete beat because even his body was taken aback by the other boy's beauty.

It was unfair the way JJ could wear a suit. Not as if he pulled it off a hanger, but as if it had been made to fit his body alone, the black fabric cut and tailored to drape so perfectly across strong shoulders and those long legs. His waist coat was a deep burgundy, the color of spilled wine and broken hearts, a perfect dash of color against the white linen of his shirt and the black tie noosed around his neck. JJ’s hair fell across his brows, that artful dishevelment that gave him such a wicked look. The way his full lips were curved down into a frown, worry scrawled so clearly across his open face.

How could desire cause such a sweet ache in his veins? How could one glimpse send his blood bubbling, anger and anxiety melting into something sweeter? How the sight of JJ’s tall, lean body felt like a gasp of fresh oxygen in the lungs of a drowning man? 

_Do you think he deserves to be kept a secret?_ Yuri flinched.

“Are you okay?” 

JJ’s eyes settled on his hands, caught a glimpse of torn knuckles and bloodied fists, and he sucked in a breath - a startled hiss of concern. And Yuri felt a strange whisper of guilt at the other boy’s expression. JJ’s face was meant for smiles and wide grins and playful smirks. His blue eyes were meant to dance with mischief or wink with flirtatious fun. Worry didn't look right, settling over his features. The frown on his lips looked out of place, holding back every troubled word. His forehead wasn’t supposed to be furrowed, a wrinkle carved deep between knitted brows. His gaze wasn’t supposed to be filled with that mixture of unease and overwhelming concern. 

Yuri looked down at his hands and made a conscious effort to unfurl his fists, like violent flowers blooming into slender fingers and soft palms. As if he could hide their scraped skin and mottled bruising, as if the simple gesture didn’t cause sun-sparks of pain flickering through his bones. 

“I’m fine,” he made himself say, but his quiet voice was a strained note, flat and offkey. Normalcy was a song whose harmony he knew so well, yet even in his own ears, his words were discordant. 

“You looked pretty upset back there,” JJ commented mildly as he stepped closer. He wasn’t fooled. “For a minute, you looked ready to throw a few punches.”

“You know Viktor,” Yuri said, raising his shoulders into a half-hearted shrug. “He and Yuuri seem to think I’m their unofficial kid or something. I can’t do anything without being scolded.” He tried to smile, but his lips curled back into a sneer, dripping with frustrated disgust.

JJ was close enough to reach out one hand and brush tender fingers across Yuri’s cheek. “He was warning you about me, wasn’t he?” 

There was no surprise in his voice, yet Yuri could see the way his jaw tightened slightly, the way his brow knit beneath the weight of sad resignation. The Canadian had never truly fit in with most of the other skaters. Yuuri had made an effort to obtain his friendship, but Viktor had never been a fan. 

It wasn’t fucking fair. 

“I don’t want to talk about Viktor anymore,” Yuri said firmly, and the name might have been a curse. “I don’t want to talk about Yuuri or reporters or gossip either.” He gave a groan, a tangled sound of irritation. “This was supposed to be my celebration night, you know. It was supposed to be unforgettable.”

After the last word, a little laugh burst from his lips, harsh and sarcastic against the quiet stillness of the foggy night. It had been unforgettable, alright. But not in the way he had always dreamed about. For a long moment, he felt JJ’s eyes upon him. Studying carefully. Thoughtfully.

The tender touch against his cheek fell away.

“Dance with me.” JJ held out his hand, those elegant fingers outstretched, and he wore that familiar little half-smile smirk. “I’ve been dying to dance with you all night. And now no one's around to see. Not even the stars are looking down.”

Yuri felt a flush blush over his cheeks. He should say no, he knew that. He should deny the request, turn it down flat in the name of prudence. Maybe he was just being selfish again. But how could he say no when JJ was looking at him like that, with those twilight eyes so earnest. Yuri accepted the other boy's outstretched hand, and JJ's stronger fingers were curling gently around his slender, bruised ones, their life-lines pressed together. JJ's other arm curved around his waist, pulling him close.

The Russian boy had never danced like this with anyone, not really. He'd been going to galas and banquets since he was young, yet he had never once been tempted to dance within another's arms, and the scowl upon his face had always proven to be an effective deterrent, even from friendly requests.

So why did it feel so good to sway from one foot to another? JJ's cheek rested against his hair, and he heard the other boy give a contented murmur, nuzzling his nose against the golden strands. “Mmmm,” was the soft rumble from JJ’s chest, a sigh of satisfaction. “You always smell so good. After you left today, I didn’t want to leave my bed. I could smell you all over the sheets, and it felt like you were still there. ”

Yuri felt the flush pink his cheeks again, warmth flaring at the tips of his ears. JJ was so good at saying things that the Russian boy would never dream about uttering, so earnest and so cheesy and so genuine, without a single stammer or blush of embarrassment. The big dork was always so sincere.

_He deserves better than that._ There was Viktor’s voice again, brushing across his mind. And Yuri’s fingers tightened against JJ’s jacket. He wanted to drown out the noise, drown out the night with its relentless disappointment. Couldn’t he have a single moment where he could forget all of it?

Yuri hesitated for a brief moment, and when the request spilled from his lips, it was rushed - syllables brushing against each other in his hurry to block out the darker thoughts. “Tell me what it will be like.”

JJ's arms tightened around him. “What do you mean?” the dark haired boy asked, nuzzling his lips against Yuri’s temple, brushing a tender kiss across the delicate skin.

“Us. This. Whatever this is.” Ugh. The words stuttered against his teeth, awkward in their stiffness

They swayed, and Yuri let his head fall to rest upon JJ's shoulder. There was a long moment of quiet, broken by the faint scuff of feet against damp sidewalk. Here in the mist, he couldn’t even hear the noise of the party inside. Instead of music and raucous laughter, there was only silence. They were in their own small world.

“I can come to St. Petersburg for summer training,” JJ said, and his voice was soft. Yet there was a smile that curved against his lips, painting each word with a steady warmth. “And we'll meet up at competitions. Stealing into each other's hotel rooms, messing up the sheets and trying not to let anyone hear us laugh. You can come visit me and Rajah when your coaches gives you time off. We'll spend an entire week in bed and I'll make you breakfast every morning. I'll make you the best french toast you've had in your life. I'll show you every corner of Montreal. And you can show me Russia. And when we can’t see each other in person… We can talk on the phone.

Yuri buried his face in the curve of JJ's neck, trying to ignore the way his eyes were stinging with salt, tawny lashes closing above blurred vision. He could see it. He could feel it. He could feel the brush of sheets against his skin, and JJ's sleepy smile in golden mornings. He could see those clandestine meetings, those hushed secret laughs behind closed doors, desire unleashed where no one could see. He could see JJ walking through St. Petersburg beside him, their arms almost brushing with every stride, hands stuffed in pockets to prevent the way their fingers ached to twine together. He could see JJ's bright grin, the flash of white teeth as Yuri took him to his favorite dive bar, letting the Canadian boy experience a tiny punk show crammed in a tiny little venue, the adrenaline rush of crunching guitars and spilled beer. He could imagine waking up in the morning in the predawn gloom, picking up his phone to call the night-dipped Montreal, hearing JJ’s sleep-roughened voice, drowsy and warm as the Canadian began to drift off to sleep. 

Why did it make Yuri’s stomach twist upon itself? How could it bring another sort of ache to his chest? It wasn't the sweet ache of desire he was growing used to in JJ's presence... This was something painful. Hollow. As if there was a hand curling within his chest, five fingers and a smooth palm carving an empty space behind his ribs. This was an ache of loss.

Yuri wanted it. How was that possible? Yesterday, he had been certain that all he wanted was a night of lust – moans spilled against ivory sheets, fingertips pressed roughly against his hips – and now, he could see an endless string of nights and days behind his closed lashes. This strange future where anything could happen – filled to the brim with possibilities, potential excitement – a thousand kisses and the warmth of JJ's arms curled around his body.

He allowed himself to feel it all. To imagine it. No regrets. No guilt. No fear. Letting JJ's soft voice spin possibilities so vivid, they felt like memories on the verge of blooming into being.

Yuri took a deep breath. Trying to remember every single second of this scene, as if it had been plucked from the pages of a novel. He wanted to print this memory against his soul, tattoo it behind his eyes – he wanted to feel it all again every time he closed his lashes. Like a flower tucked between the crisp pages of a book, dried petals mingling with the scent of ink against paper – a memory that he could hold between his fingertips, treasured and beloved.

The way JJ's hair tickled against his cheek, tendrils of onyx like fingertips over his skin. The way he smelled – the mixture of cologne and shampoo – a scent that wrapped around his mind and made his toes curl. The strength of his arm wrapped over his waist, his other hand twined around the Russian boy's – the warmth of JJ's breath against Yuri's neck. The soft murmur of the other man's voice, painting the future that felt so real. Tiny raindrops drizzling down from the sky, a cool mist that painted seed pearls into their hair, clung to their lashes in small, fractured diamonds.

He didn't even realize when they had stopped dancing, when their bodies had stopped swaying from one foot to another. The mist crept around them, and all Yuri knew was that he was hugging JJ tightly – his arms curled around JJ's neck, suit jacket woven carelessly in tight fights. Suddenly, he was clinging to the other boy, muscles coiled so taunt, he was trembling. The emptiness behind his ribs began to grow. The hollowness tasted like grief upon his tongue.

_Do you think he deserves to be kept a secret?_

And Yuri knew that JJ knew what was happening. Could sense it the way those strong arms curled even tighter, the kisses that suddenly began to rain themselves against his neck, something desperate woven amongst their softness. 

He had no choice.

Yuri took a deep breath – and pushed himself out of JJ's arms. Took a step backwards and then another, until they no longer stood within reach – and he felt dizzy.

“We can't do this,” Yuri said. His voice was barely a whisper, losing itself amongst the fog that thickened around them. But those four words could have been a scream in the silence that fell between them.

He felt weak. He felt so fucking weak – already chilled, already aching for JJ's arms – wanting more. It was dizzying to realize that it was over. This was the last moment. This was the end of it all – those fragile illusions woven from foolish hope dissolving between his fingers, fading into nothing like the breath from his lips.

“Is this where we pretend that nothing happened?” JJ's voice sounded as if it had been carved from wood – harsh and yet empty of emotion at the same time. No, not carved from wood. His words were carved from bone – empty and hollow with broken edges – blank and vulnerable at the same time. As if Yuri had reached inside of his chest and cracked open his ribs.

Yuri couldn't let JJ see his weakness. Could not let his emotions be painted across his features, emotions read as easily as a story. Wasn't he good at this by now? Gripping Apathy between his fists and wrapping it around his body like armor, battered metal and cool steel to hide the ache beneath.

The Russian boy raised his shoulders in a slow, languid shrug. His eyelids fell into a half-shrouded gaze, chin lifting as the lie slipped so easily from the tip of his tongue. “What do you mean, pretend?” Yuri asked coolly. “Nothing did happen.”

“Bullshit, Yuri. You're running,” JJ's smooth voice broke then – a strange waver amidst the forced blank words - a sound of anger and a faint hint of fear that cut into Yuri's chest. “You can't – You can't let a bunch of strangers tell you how to live your life. You don’t have to _do_ this. Whatever you’re worried about - we can fix it.”

Yuri’s chest felt as if it was splintering, resolve wavering at the sight of the frustration in those pale-moon blue eyes. Never again to touch those fingers, never again to feel JJ's breath against his lips, the whisper of warmth dissolving into sweet, intoxicating kisses. He would see the other boy's face at other competitions – but never would he see those eyes glow with fierce pride and soften with fondness for him alone.

Why did it hurt? Why did it feel hard to breathe, why did it feel like every gasp of air was bladed against his throat?

Yuri could see JJ's hands – those fingers that could trace patterns against the skin with such tenderness – now curled up into fists. His strong jaw was tightening, teeth clenching – and he recognized that glint in the other boy's eyes. Stubbornness. That fire of pure determination burning beneath dark brows. And he knew that JJ wasn't going to let it go – he knew JJ was going to come up with a plan, JJ was going to use all of his charm to convince him that they could get through this – they didn't have to sacrifice it all.

And he was ashamed to discover that a part of him wanted JJ to do just that. Wanted the Canadian boy to see through the retreat, to grab his hand and refuse to let him leave. Wanted to falter, wanted to let himself be swayed against common sense. He couldn't give JJ that chance. Couldn't let himself be weak. Couldn't let his own frail heart slip between his fingers and destroy everything he had built. He had responsibilities.

Wasn't this better for everyone? Right when Yuri’s strength began to falter... There was that ugly little voice that always whispered from the depths of his mind. Except now, it sounded too much like the lilt of Viktor's voice, edged in faint laughter. Now it sounded like Yakov’s growl, rough with disappointment. Now it sounded like Lilia, every word cold and edged with frost.

This wasn't just best for Yuri and his family. It was best for JJ too. End things before he got attached. JJ would thank him later – maybe years from now, when he finally settled down with one of his sweet Adonis boys or one of his divine leggy Goddesses. JJ would raise his eyes to the stars and thank the moon that he had not wasted too much time on a broken boy, too small, too angry to be worthy of love, who could only offer devotion spun from the threads of secrets, who could only offer a palmful of truths shrouded in lies. 

JJ deserved so much better than this.

He was saving them both. He was saving them all.

Yuri looked away from JJ. Closed his eyes. Took a deep breath as something inside of him shifted, as something vital inside of him shuddered and cracked and fell into pieces. The last fires of his defiance broke beneath the cold waters of resignation, selfish desires drowning beneath the waves of hopeless pragmaticism. Sacrifice was a song that he knew all too well. One didn’t make it this far without memorizing the familiar notes of loss and loneliness, without learning what it meant to endure the unendurable. Wasn’t that was Lilia had tried to tell him earlier? 

He needed to be ruthless. He needed to stop JJ in his tracks – needed to tear away his mercy and hide away the weakness of his heart. It would be easier this way. Easier for JJ to let go. To accept it. To move on. 

Yuri looked up. Beneath tawny lashes, his green eyes were frosted – their emeralds paled into a silvered jade. As if ice had sunk beneath his marrow, crystalline fractures rivering across his bones - leaving his blood cold and numb. He felt like a glacial prince spun from winter, cruel and relentless. 

“I don't want to be with you,” Yuri said, every single letter etched into ice. His voice slow and careful, as if this lie wasn't the hardest thing he had ever said in his life. As if every word wasn't formed from blades that sliced his ribs into ribbons, as if they didn't bite into his tongue as they spilled forth, as if the syllables didn't taste of burnt copper and broken dreams splintered against the asphalt.

JJ flinched from the sound, staring at him with gunmetal eyes grown wide – as grey as the ashes that lingered when flames finally perished and even embers faded into nothing. His pupils were black holes collapsing in upon themselves – and the sharp inhalation in his throat was the same sound as a heart breaking beneath the weight of horror.

“So now we go back to being just friends,” the Canadian boy said, a placid statement instead of a question, a forced serenity that Yuri could see through. JJ’s voice didn't waver – the timbre of his words cradled a calmness that wasn't reflected in his gaze. His eyes were screaming. 

How could they be friends? That was a path that held too many dangers – temptation shrouded in normalcy. Where every text would send the heartbeat fluttering, and every encounter would feel like a hollow mockery of what they had once experienced. Every friendly smile would carry the echo of past kisses, cradle the taste of their moans. How could they be friends without remembering the fire that had burned between them, when every word was a spark that could set everything aflame once more. Friendship? It would be a joke of what they wanted, painted with a thousand painful lies. It would be elaborate game of pretend - one easily broken. Resolve would crumble beneath temptation’s siren call - and they’d be back to where they started.

“When have we ever been friends, Leroy?” Yuri asked softly. The words were as soft and as final as a eulogy, a soft-petaled rose placed upon the polished wood of a casket before it was lowered into the earth.

And JJ's body shuddered before him. As if that old familiar name was a silver-bladed knife sunk expertly between the channels of his ribs. As if Yuri held the other boy’s heart firmly between his cupped palms - and was methodically tearing it apart. Letting every piece flutter to the ground, shredded beyond repair.

Yuri wanted to look away from those blue eyes, wanted to flush away from the horror and pain and the aching sadness 

Love is a car crash no one walks away from, he had told JJ only days before. A lifetime ago when they were just two tentative boys in a hotel room, accidentally peeling back their shields to reveal the scars etched into the tender flesh beneath.

But Yuri owed it to JJ. To stare unflinching at the wreckage he was creating with his own two hands, to gaze at the twisted metal and shattered glass and broken dreams that he could see scattered in those blue eyes. He didn't have the right to look away. He couldn’t close his eyes to this. This was his car crash. This was his devastation - and he deserved every minute of it, even if every single moment felt like a blade carving across his lungs, twisting deep.

_I'm sorry,_ Yuri wanted to say.

But the words falling from his lips were vastly different. 

“Look - it was fun while it lasted, right?” He hated the way the words tasted of ice. Sharp edged and painted with the frost of indifference. “We fooled around. We had a laugh. Whatever. It wasn’t anything serious. We both had an itch that needed scratched - it was just convenient, yeah? But nothing to ruin our lives over.”

JJ stepped backwards as if Yuri’s words were formed from fists, a punch to the stomach to take breath away. 

“It was fun?” JJ echoed his words, somehow filling them with worlds of shocked disbelief, trembling with a bitter pain. A pain that blossomed into something else, fierce and passionate. His fingers combed roughly through his dark hair, strong shoulders taut and strained.

“Don’t - don’t fucking do that, Yuri. Don’t act like it was nothing. If you want to end this, fine. I get it. I won’t stop you. But don’t act like - like you didn’t feel anything. Because I know we both did.”

Yuri stared. He had never heard anger on the tip of JJ’s tongue, thick and furious. Frustration twisted with pain, raw and open and overwhelming. But the anger was gone as quick as it had come, leaving a desolate stillness in its wake. Those blue eyes that were always laughing, now staring back at him like black diamonds - miserable and frustrated and lost. The strength in those shoulders unraveling.

Something was shattering inside of him. A grief so vast he felt as if he was drowning – Yuri was breathing water instead of air and the weight of the ocean was closing over his head. His trembling fingers curled into fists, nails digging crimson crescents into his palms, bruised knuckles twinging with flares of pain. He wished it hurt more. Wished the pain was sharp enough to balance the ache in his chest, or the hurt in JJ's eyes. 

Yuri knew that look would haunt him for the rest of his life. Sinking under his skin, weaving across his bones like shackled vines – a ghost breathing through his own lungs. This guilt would be tattooed against his ribs forever, a permanent penitence for him to bear alone. 

“This is what you really want?” JJ’s voice had grown so quiet, yet the softness did little to disguise its thick roughness. As if his tongue was sandpaper, scratching jagged edges into every syllable before he let them fall. Rain clung to his dark hair like a thousand tiny stars.

JJ was handing him a lifeline, one last chance to change his mind. One last chance to pretend he didn’t mean any of it, to apologize and hope for forgiveness. One last chance to be selfish, to grab the other boy’s shirt in his fist and pull him down for a kiss that would taste like fire and solace, all at once. 

_What will happen to your family?_

“Yeah,” Yuri whispered. He wished he could lift his chin and speak with strength born from confidence, wished he could meet those blue eyes one last time. But instead, his voice spilled forth, twisted and hollow. He cleared his throat and tried again. Firmer this time. “Yeah, it is.” 

His eyes were burning, dipped in salt and Yuri knew if he didn’t leave, the salt would spill down his cheeks and reveal the lies threaded through every word. His legs were trembling, sinews shaking with a weakness that threatened to buckle his knees, as if his entire body was protesting, trying to scream, _Please don't make us do this. Don't make us walk away._

But Yuri wasn’t that weak. He couldn’t afford to be. 

This time, Yuri dropped his eyes to study the wet grass beneath their feet, dark blades jeweled with a thousand tears from the mist around them. He had to look away. He couldn’t let JJ see the way his green eyes were shrouded with a glimmering veil, shimmering with glassy warmth.

He was the Ice Tiger. He wasn't going to fucking cry.

“See ya around, Leroy,” Yuri said quietly. Four simple words, and yet he hated every single one - the way they echoed against his mind with a cruel finality. They were the thunder of a prison door sliding shut, all hope for freedom erased. They were the unforgiving click of a lock snapping into place, the weight of shackles tugging at his wrists. 

This was the end.

Yuri straightened his shoulders, felt his chest expand as he drew in a slow, heavy breath and took one step forward. And then another. Every step weighted with a reluctance he couldn’t reveal, and he felt the hollowness inside of him grow. And then he was sweeping past JJ, and he couldn’t see those beautiful, broken blue eyes any longer- but he could still feel them burning between his shoulderblades, branding themselves against his spine like the memory of JJ’s hands, tracing every vertebrae like they formed his favorite constellation.

But Yuri didn’t stop. He didn’t falter. He just kept walking. He let the fog rise up to shelter him like a silvered curtain, vanishing into its comfort as easily as he was vanishing from the other boy’s life. He felt the cold dampness trail wet fingers across his cheeks. 

This time, Yuri knew, JJ wouldn’t be running after him. 

He had everything he wanted, didn't he? He was the reigning world champion. This was what he had spent his entire life working to achieve. This was what was best for everyone.

So why did it feel like he had lost everything?


End file.
